All the King’s Queens – Chapter 8: Party Crashers

Stephen Callahan estimates his crew should arrive at Dylan Tanaka’s property at a quarter to 11 o’clock. That should give him plenty of time to coordinate the shutting off of Dylan’s security systems. Bill Marks, a man Stephen has known for several years from their days working together at a Silicon Valley startup that eventually folded, is currently the Regional Manager of the West Coast office of McDonald & Pierce Security Systems, a private home security company that specifically caters to the rich and famous. MPSS’s clients span professional athletes to Hollywood celebrities, corporate CEOs, government officials, lobbyists, media personalities, investors, and anyone with enough money (and a healthy dose of paranoia) to pay for such expensive services. Bill, who did some contract work for Perseus Analytics back in the day, is also not a fan of Dylan Tanaka. He feels strongly that Stephen was the convenient scapegoat who served the role as the sacrificial lamb so PA’s higher-ups could avoid prison time.

Bill, knowing his actions could cost him both his job and prison time for himself, enthusiastically agreed to join in on the scheme when Stephen first approached him about it. His role is fairly simple but no less crucial: His job is to temporarily create a systems error between midnight and 3:00 a.m. on Sunday, June 30. MPSS regularly goes through a region-wide system reboot/update on the final day of every month for a few hours, usually beginning at midnight. This is completely routine and happens as scheduled every single month. Occasionally, this system reboot will cause a small handful of homes to lose the connection between their security system and the main servers at the MPSS regional headquarters. It’s typical for anywhere between 5-10 homes on the West Coast (Washington, Idaho, Oregon, California, and Utah) to temporarily experience this technical glitch for no more than an hour or two. MPSS tries to minimize this bug, but technology isn’t always a perfect ally. Since they have more than 170,000 clients in these five U.S. states, that number isn’t trivial but is small enough that if it were to happen, it wouldn’t be considered unusual.

Stephen proposed to Bill the simple scheme of intentionally cutting off the connection between Dylan Tanaka’s house during those critical three hours. As far as he’s concerned, his motion detectors, security cameras, door locks, and direct lines to emergency services will still operate – but any data captured from those systems will not feed back to HQ (located in Redwood City, CA, where Bill lives and works). Which basically means Dylan’s security systems will be useless during that window of time. He won’t receive any error messages on his end, but that won’t matter because for three hours the Internet connection between his home and Redwood City HQ will be cut off. All of this, while “tragic,” is perfectly normal. Thankfully for MPSS (whose main corporate headquarters is in Austin, TX) this secret technical glitch hasn’t come back to haunt them – yet. It’s only a matter of time, Stephen and Bill have decided, when a regularly scheduled systems reboot would result in a catastrophic event where a rich man whose house is being broken into isn’t reported to the local police. And, no footage of the crime is ever recorded onto MPSS’s cloud servers.

During their initial planning discussion, Bill estimates this would cost the company dearly in a lawsuit brought upon by Mr. Tanaka, as well as bad publicity. But since Mr. Tanaka has become a social pariah after being dubbed a “war profiteer” by a Congressional defense committee, he will most likely receive very little public support. MPSS’s stockholders and board members will temporarily freak out, but the market has a funny way of returning back to normal after the news cycle moves on to something new. You’re only one controversial Donald Trump tweet away from your sins being forgotten by the media. They are easily distracted. And the current U.S. president has a knack for distracting people from what’s really going on around the country.

Still, such a plan comes with immense risk. After lengthy brainstorming, Stephen Callahan and Bill Marks decided that every client in the greater Seattle area should experience the same “technical glitch” as Dylan in order to minimize any suspicion that this was an inside job. That would victimize only 378 homes – including a few business buildings – a fairly small number compared to MPSS’s total number of clients, but large enough to make it look like Dylan Tanaka’s home wasn’t specifically targeted. This “outage” could also be shorter or longer for some people. Some people may only experience a glitch lasting 20 seconds. Or 10 minutes. Or 30 minutes. Or three hours. Dylan’s home should experience some of the longer outages, of course, which would give Stephen’s team plenty of time to break in, steal whatever they need to steal, and get out without giving Dylan or any of his nosy neighbors a chance to call the cops.

In return for this invaluable service, Stephen promised he’d pay Bill and two unnamed mid-level employees at MPSS (it would be nearly impossible for Bill to singlehandedly execute a plot of his magnitude and technical difficulty) $175,000 each upfront and at least $1.5 million afterward. They could get more if the information Stephen steals ends up being as valuable on the black market as he suspects it is. All in all, Stephen will have to pay at least $5,025,000 to ascertain Dylan’s hidden documents. However, he knows that’s small potatoes compared to their estimated worth: At least $40 billion when you consider the fortune you’d make producing state-of-the-art artificial intelligence programs for foreign governments, militaries, corporations, NGOs, and any party who desires to weaponize data to their advantage.

None of the people involved in this plot seem morally concerned about the potential blowback this operation could create. Oh well. Life goes on.

Until it doesn’t.

“Dude, this drive is long and boring as hell. There’s nothing to see. It’s just darkness.” Thomas resists the urge to yawn, which could communicate tiredness (which he is at the moment) and the possibility that his mind wouldn’t be sufficiently sharp enough to complete the mission. Despite the late hour, Stephen doubts anyone on his team will actually fall asleep on the job. The stakes are way too high.

“You should try driving this road during the day. It’s no better. But we’re not here to be tourists.” Stephen looks at his trusty safecracker for any sign that he’s considering backing out. Unlike most gigs he’s worked on, the loot they’re stealing is potentially worth billions of dollars. This is a scale Thomas has never experienced before. He’s accustomed to stealing boring shit like passports, birth certificates, legally-binding contracts, wills, jewelry, expensive watches, or the occasional key to a safety deposit box. He has never been asked to actually go to the bank and retrieve whatever is in that box, just to steal the key to get in. So not even the jobs where really valuable stuff is involved is directly stolen by him. However, this evening is a whole new ballgame, a whole different can of worms.

“Relax, we’re going to be okay. We’ll be there before you know it. Just pretend like you just chugged seven Red Bulls. That’ll do the trick.”

“Hm,” Thomas reacts with less enthusiasm than a little kid eating a plate full of brussels sprouts. Usually, Thomas does jobs where his only stake in the game is the payment for doing it successfully. It’s never personal, just business. This, however, is a slightly different matter. He doesn’t necessarily consider Stephen a friend, so failure tonight wouldn’t devastate him too much emotionally (unless they get caught by the police, which goes without saying). That doesn’t mean he isn’t rooting for Stephen to win. Thomas has no qualms about stealing money or assets from a super-rich billionaire. It’s not like Dylan Tanaka will miss it. After all, he’s the one who’s chosen to sit on these documents for all these years. He could have easily chosen to sell them to a third-party bidder at a ridiculously high price. That isn’t something he’s done – yet. So if a man like Stephen Callahan, who deserves his fair shake after the clown show that was the congressional investigation and hearings, can’t be faulted too much for taking something that Mr. Tanaka refuses to give away. Morality is a funny thing, Thomas often thinks. It’s all a matter of perspective.

Meanwhile, inside the SUV Xander carefully removes a small flask out of his coat pocket and takes a small swig. He knows he’s supposed to remain “clean and sober” until the job is done, but feelings of nervousness cannot easily be shaken off. He’s only human. The small amount of bourbon he drinks will calm his nerves, loosen him up, and make him more at ease once they get to the rich guy’s mansion. What’s the harm in that?

“How are we all feeling?” Roddy asks his passengers. His gaze is focused on the road.

“Meh. Let’s just get it over with. It’s been a while since I’ve been on a job,” Cortez says. “I feel out of shape, know what I mean? This shit better not take all night, that’s all I’m asking.” Xander, sitting in the back seat, takes a second swig of bourbon before sharing his answer with the group. Before speaking, he puts the flask back inside his coat pocket, thankful that nobody seemed to have noticed it.

“I’m good. Kind of excited. I’m like you, Cortez. Haven’t been on a job in a long time. Damn. Probably my second one this year. Shit.” Xander shifts around in his seat, genuinely surprised at his lack of activity this year.

“That’s it? You worked with Tony Morocco and his boys, right? They snuck all those trucks full of cocaine across the Mexican border right around Valentine’s Day. The DEA had no fucking idea it happened. They probably still don’t. As far as the Border Patrol is concerned, those trucks had corn maize in it,” Roddy says. Tony Morocco is an infamous drug smuggler who is intimately connected with many of the big Mexican and Central American cartels. He’s born and raised in the United States, has lots of personal (and family) connections south of the border, and knows the right federal officials and law enforcement personnel to pay off in order to keep the flow of narcotics onto American streets going smoothly. Almost every hired goon on the West Coast has worked for him before, either directly or indirectly. Roddy, to his credit, knows almost every major player in the game. His knowledge of everyone’s sordid history should come as no surprise. He didn’t assemble this team himself – it was Thomas who gathered all the players on Stephen’s behalf – but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t know who he’s riding with.

“To be fair, they did have some corn maize in them,” Cortez chuckles. “But not all those boxes, that’s for damn sure.”

“Tony’s a big bad cat. Never met the dude, but I’ve worked with his boys before. But that was a while ago.” Xander hopes this will end the conversation. He won’t ever admit it, but Xander once ratted out one of Tony’s homeboys to the FBI because he tried to sleep with his then-girlfriend. The feds know who Xander is, even though they won’t officially bring him in on criminal charges. He’s too low-level for that, plus he can be helpful in conducting internal “house cleaning” of gangsters who stray too far from the “code.” Therefore, Xander isn’t technically speaking an FBI informant, though he has been an informant before. This isn’t a rare occurrence. Lots of dudes low on the totem pole have talked to the police, FBI, Border Patrol, DEA – even the CIA – at some point. They just don’t rat out the “big fish” swimming in the pond. They only talk to either save their own hides or eliminate idiots on their own side who are about to get caught or killed anyway. Tony’s friend, in addition to trying to fuck Xander’s girl, had a tendency to get sloppy with his hit jobs. One unfortunate mistake led to a pregnant woman getting killed by a car bomb when the intended target was a female judge who happened to share the same name as her. The judge, who at the time was presiding over a case involving submachine guns smuggled across the border by one of the cartels, doesn’t get a scratch on her head (she was in another part of Ciudad Juárez at the time) while the pregnant woman gets killed along with three other innocent bystanders. This mistake was forgiven at the time, but it certainly put him on the “expendable” list by the powers-that-be inside the cartels. His death was inevitable. Xander ratting him out made sure that instead of him getting killed by a cartel assassin, he’d hang himself inside his holding cell with bedsheets. Which he did.

“I see. Yeah, he’s a bad motherfucker. Never met him either,” Roddy adds.

“I have,” Cortez chimes in. Both passengers express their pleasant surprise. “Once. About a year ago. I was at his daughter’s birthday party. Can’t tell you where, but it was by the beach. Nice ass place. Goddamn, he’s a rich motherfucker, just like this asshole we’re about to meet right now. I’m telling you, he has about eight different wives, or girlfriends, or whatever. I don’t know who those bitches were. But hot damn! He gets more pussy in a day than we do all year. Fuck man.”

“Wow. I’ve heard stories about him, bro. But you actually met him?” Roddy asks. He genuinely wants to know.

“Yeah, but we’re not friends or nothing. I just met him once, know what I mean?” Cortez squirms in his seat a bit, knowing he probably just said too much. Tony Morocco is infamous for having a lot of mistresses at any given time. However, that doesn’t mean he likes his employees talking about it openly. He’s a man with typical male desires, but he’s also (technically speaking) a family man with a wife and four kids. He’s also a violent gangster who’s responsible for the deaths of hundreds of people over the years, a fact that doesn’t obscure the truth that he’s also a philanderer. Nobody’s perfect. “So I don’t know a whole lot about him other than the rumors I’ve heard. We’ve all heard rumors about him, right?”

“Right.” Xander quietly coughs to himself, wanting to hide the one final swig of bourbon he just swallowed. This is it for now, he thinks to himself. “Lots of rumors of a lot of people, man. Fuck, it’s hard to know what’s true and what’s not, you dig? Hell, motherfuckers out there are probably saying shit about us, you know?”

“For real. Our boss on this job, Callahan, is new to the game. Nobody knows shit about him, except he spent years in the Big House with Tommy,” Roddy says. “I don’t know him, but he seems like he knows what he’s doing. It makes me feel better about our chances.”

“Oh yeah, for sure.” Xander adds.

Cortez checks his firearm to make sure the safety is still on. It is. “This shit should be easy. I’ve had to break into far worse situations. Remember that boathouse, bro?”

“Oh yeah, that shit was wild,” Roddy remembers. Five years ago, Roddy and Cortez first met doing a hit job on some hotshot lawyer who represented the Securities and Exchange Commission. The SEC was investigating a Ponzi scheme set up by a former Wall Street executive. They and two other guys had to locate this man’s boathouse in the middle of a well-guarded Florida Keys dock, put two bullets into the back of his skull, and get away before his private security guards showed up. The hit was successful and the SEC eventually eased off on the investigation. But Roddy and Cortez had to learn how to scuba dive (!) in order to sneak onto the dude’s boat unnoticed. It was cold, windy, rainy, and dark outside. Thankfully, all four hitmen were paid handsomely for their work. “We don’t have to go swimming this time around, thank God. If our insider at the security company works, we don’t even have to worry about how long it takes. Just get in, steal whatever the fuck we’re stealing, and get out of there in time for breakfast. Shouldn’t be too bad.”

It was at this exact moment that all three men realize that they had broken the one unbreakable rule of the business: they said it would be “easy.” You never do that. Ever. It’s considered bad luck, a sure-fire jinx that would (nearly) guarantee things won’t be as easy as they think it will be. With that, the three men nod their heads quietly, refocus their minds on the mission at hand, and sit silently in the SUV as they approach their ultimate destination.

***

“He’s so different in real life, you know? He’s not what you think he is. For real. That’s true of a lot of guys in the business.”

Peggy Cole has garnered an attentive audience eager to learn about the dirty little secrets of the porn industry. Sitting on Henry’s lap on a comfortable eggshell white L-shaped couch, Peggy has spent the last twenty minutes sipping whiskey, passing a joint around the group, and recalling her favorite moments working as a pornographic actress. Dylan and Melanie are cuddling on the carpet while Monique is sitting by herself at Peggy’s feet. At the moment they are hearing Peggy dish about Kit Styles, a b-level porn actor who is considered a “rising star” among those who pay attention to this sort of thing. “He’s shy and legit an introvert. Seriously. He gets really awkward around girls like me, and, well, people in general, I guess. But he’s a real sweetheart,” Peggy says.

“He reads off a script when he’s making his videos, so that’s not surprising. I can’t imagine someone being that smooth with the ladies all the time,” Dylan says, inhaling a bit of marijuana smoke. Melanie playfully pinches his shoulder. It’s been at least six months since he last smoked weed. It was New Year’s Eve 2018. He was hanging out with a few friends who were visiting from Europe. Thankfully for Dylan, he’s not as much of a pariah overseas as he is domestically. It’s not that Europeans aren’t aware of Dylan’s legal troubles, it’s more that they can’t bring themselves to hate an American suspected of being a war criminal more than a European suspected of being a war criminal. Dylan considered moving to either France or the U.K. at one point. He doubts he’ll ever leave the United States. “Although porn scripts aren’t exactly that well written in the first place, if we’re just being honest for a moment.”

The group laughs. Peggy, not surprisingly, isn’t too offended by everyone poking fun at her chosen profession. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. We’re not known for our Oscar-worthy writing. Who gives a shit? All people want to see are boobs, pussy, dicks, and flesh banging against flesh. What conversation they have before isn’t on anybody’s mind when they’re trying to jack off in the privacy of their own homes,” Peggy argues. Melanie reaches over to caress Dylan’s limp penis, attempting to bring it back to life. Dylan, to his credit, would rather hang out with his friends, smoke pot, drink whiskey, and talk about whatever is on their minds instead of going at it with Melanie again. He loves sex, but he loves being in the company of friends even more. He gets enough sex throughout the year (normally) but not nearly enough quality time hanging out with friendly company.

“I’ve seen a few of his videos,” Monique confesses, a look of embarrassment forming across her face. “He’s not my type, but DAMN he’s big AS FUCK down there!”

“He sure is, baby.” Peggy tickles Henry’s scrotum, making him squirm with her on his lap. “But here’s the thing. He’s got a big dick, but he ain’t a big dick, if that makes any sense. Sort of like you, Henry baby. Big down there, but that don’t mean he’s a jerk or nothing. He’s sweet and humble. He treats everyone with respect.” Henry rolls his eyes, not wanting the sort of attention Peggy is giving him. Yes, he’s aware of what he has between his legs. But he’s not proud of it (or ashamed of it). To him, it’s ridiculous to be proud of something that you’re born with. It’s not like he climbed Mt. Everest or graduated from MIT or was elected President of the United States. He has a large penis. So what? Peggy seems to like it (quite vocally, in fact). That must count for something. But not much, Henry thinks.

“I’d imagine there are a lot of egos going on in your business, just like mine. Or rather, the business I used to be in,” Dylan adds. “I can’t say I’ve ever heard of Kit Styles before, but he sounds like quite the character. When will your podcast launch?”

“Oh, we don’t know yet. This fall? Maybe during the winter? Or we could launch it next year. Or never. We don’t really have a plan yet. He’s still down in L.A. trying to break into Hollywood. Legitimate filmmaking,” Peggy says. “He wants to be an actor. Like, a real actor. He says he wants to eventually stop doing porn. I hope for the best, but don’t hold your breath. He’s cute and all, but once you do porn a few times that reputation sticks with you. Plus, all he can do is memorize and say whatever shitty lines he’s given. That’s it. He ain’t cut out for Shakespeare, that’s for damn sure.”

Everyone laughs. Peggy, embarrassed that she just threw her good friend under the bus, attempts to steer the conversation away from Kit’s lack of acting abilities. “But you can go to classes for shit like that. L.A. has a shit ton of acting coaches. I’ve taken lessons, he tells me. We’ll see if it works. I hope it does for him, I truly do.”

“I’m sure he’ll figure out a path that works best for him,” Melanie says. “We all have to give ourselves permission to step outside of our comfort zone and leap into the great unknown. If we fail, then we fail. So be it. It happens. Failure happens. It’s inevitable. What really matters is how we bounce back, if we do at all.” Dylan, wondering if this pep talk is indirectly pointed at him, kisses Melanie’s shoulder. She leans her head back on his chest, closing her eyes as he plants more kisses on her body.

“I know what failure is like. I also know what it means to bounce back,” Monique chimes in. “You’re right, baby girl. Failure happens to all of us. What matters is what we do with it.”

“Goddamn, I feel like I’m attending a wellness seminar!” Henry jokes. Peggy giggles charitably, slowly rolling the back of her index fingernail up his shaft. She hopes to get him hard again so she’ll have an excuse to get that 7.5 inch dick stuffed again inside her pussy. However, she decides against it and shifts gears.

“Dylan, baby darling. Did you like my performance earlier? What did you think about it?” Dylan whistles, suddenly remembering Peggy’s remarkable demonstration of her unique anatomical talent. Melanie immediately catches on that Peggy is trying to seduce him, which is something she fully expected from the beginning would eventually happen.

“Oooohhh, I loved it. You were amazing. I’ve literally never seen a woman do that before. Thank you for sharing your special talent with us. It was a joy to watch,” Dylan beams. Even after making love to Melanie twice tonight, his desire for Peggy hasn’t waned one iota. He stares at her enormous breasts, imagining what it would be like to stuff his face between them. He intends to find out sooner rather than later.

“Thank you, darling.” Peggy’s eyes zoom in on Dylan. She slowly stands up, careful to avoid scraping her long fingernails against Henry’s skin. Monique smiles devilishly, knowing what’s about to come next. She looks at the bar, wondering if there are more fresh limes in the refrigerator. “Say, you know that special toy I brought with me? Would you like me to show it to you up close? Would you like a closer inspection?”

Melanie suddenly experiences a strong twinge of jealousy. She knows Dylan intends to have sex with Peggy at some point during this weekend’s festivities. It, like failure, is inevitable. Yet, she feels strange about it. She feels possessive about Dylan, like he’s her man and nobody else’s. This is ridiculous, Melanie thinks to herself, especially considering not even 30 minutes ago she was considering “breaking up” with him for good. Why does she feel this way? What’s going on?

“I would, yes.”

“Then come with me to my bedroom. Enjoy the rest of your evening, ladies and gentleman,” Peggy teases the group. She winks at Melanie, Monique, and Henry as she takes Dylan’s hand. “I need a few private moments with our host, if you don’t mind.”

“Nah, girl. Go get it. Go do whatever you got to do!” Monique cheers her on.

“Have fun, Boss Man!” Henry shouts.

Melanie Wright doesn’t say a word. Nobody except for Dylan notices this.

“Let’s go!” Peggy aggressively pulls Dylan away from the group. Everyone remains sitting together huddled up and naked in the cabaret room. Monique is already walking up to the bar to fix herself (hopefully) a margarita. Henry stands up, stretches, and decides to pour himself some more champagne. Melanie is still on the floor, watching Peggy and Dylan leave the room, not budging an inch. Hoping nobody notices, she closes her eyes and bows her head, wiping away tears that have unexpectedly formed.

***

At 10:52 p.m., the Buick and SUV quietly arrive about 50 yards away from the cul-de-sac entrance that leads to Dylan Tanaka’s home. A large public park (where Lawrence picked up Dylan’s three guests earlier this afternoon) sits at the base of a busy residential street. The street – and park, for that matter – runs parallel to the north-south edge of Lake Washington. To the east are several private roads that lead to very expensive houses. Many of them are gated. Dylan’s cul-de-sac, however, is not gated since six other homes are located on this small street. Dylan and his neighbors have discussed installing a gate at the entrance over the years, but nothing has ever materialized. After tonight’s events, that will probably change.

The main road has a few open parking spots. Motorists have to pay to park between the hours of 6:00 a.m. and 8:00 p.m. (but not on Sundays or holidays) but at this hour you can basically park wherever you like for as long as you like. Parking fare enforcement officers rarely show up in wealthy neighborhoods like this one. They’re too busy patrolling the Downtown shopping areas and business districts to care about what happens in this (usually) quiet part of town. During their weekly scouting trips, Stephen’s team noticed several security cameras installed around the private properties. It wouldn’t be wise for two unusual vehicles to park anywhere around the cul-de-sac. The main road, however, contains very few security cameras outside of the major intersections. Fortunately for Stephen Callahan and his team, Dylan’s home is located in a cul-de-sac several hundred feet away from any intersection. They should be able to park on the side of the road and not attract any unwanted attention.

Stephen and Thomas park the Buick ahead of the SUV. Once they shut off the engine, Roddy does the same to his vehicle. Both drivers take out walkie-talkie two-way radios to communicate instead of getting out of the car to chat, not wanting any passerby to eavesdrop on their conversation. “Okay, so we’re pretty lucky right now. Almost no traffic around here. That’s not a surprise. This is a quiet rich neighborhood. No party houses or college kids in sight. The pedestrians who are around seem more interested in either going home or going to the nearest bar instead of strolling around the neighborhood,” Stephen assesses. “What do you think? Am I far off?”

“No, I don’t think you are. I noticed one cop car a couple miles back. Not sure what they were up to. Probably looking out for drunk drivers at this time of night,” Roddy says. “I see two pedestrians about 100 yards ahead of us. They’re walking straight toward us. Do you see them?”

“Yes, I do,” Stephen squints his eyes to see what looks to be a man and a woman holding hands, walking their German Shepherd. It’s way too late to be taking your pooch out to take a crap, Stephen thinks to himself, but people run on all sorts of different schedules. “Just lay low until they pass. They should be behind us in two to three minutes. Put your radio down, now.”

All five men try to remain inconspicuous as the couple strolls by, oblivious to the fact that the shiny Buick and mud-stained SUV are full of armed bandits. Roddy peers at them through the review mirror. The girl has a nice ass, he observes. Thirty seconds after they’ve passed by their vehicles, Roddy picks up his radio again to talk to his boss. “Alright, we’re good now. What’s next? Are you going to call your man at the security company?”

“Yes, that’s the next step.” Stephen hands the radio to Thomas. The veteran safecracker watches Stephen dig his Android out of his pocket to make a crucial phone call. After dialing the number, Stephen waits a few seconds for Bill Marks to pick up. “Hello? Bill?”

“It’s me. Good evening, sir,” Bill answers. Sitting alone in his home office in Redwood City, Bill Marks is drinking his fourth cup of coffee and shaking like a death row inmate nervously awaiting the electric chair. Bill’s two co-conspirators at McDonald & Pierce Security Systems are currently working the graveyard shift at the West Coast Regional Headquarters, located about two and a half miles away from Bill’s plush seaside home overlooking the San Francisco Bay. It would be considered highly unusual for the Regional Manager to be at the office this late – especially since his normal office hours are the typical 9:00 a.m. to 5:00 p.m. shift – so he decided to conduct his role in tonight’s heist from the comfort of his private home. His wife is aware of the plot to rob the “war profiteer guy,” as she dubbed him. However, she’s been sworn to secrecy – which should be easy to maintain considering the vast sum of money that’s been promised to come their way should this score succeed. Besides, her husband has assured her that if things were to go to hell in a handbasket, she and Bill would summon a private helicopter that would take them to a noncommercial airport where they’d board a chartered jet to an undisclosed location in the Caribbean. There, they’d either live out the rest of their days on a beachside resort home or relocate to a country that doesn’t care that they’re white-collar criminals.

“Good evening. We’ve just arrived at the target’s home. From what we can tell, nobody is tailing us. Nobody is watching us. No one suspects what we’re up to. We’re good to go,” Stephen reassures his partner in crime. Stephen understands that he has the most to lose if this job goes south, but that doesn’t change the fact that the others involved also have skin in the game. “Can I say the same with you and your boys?”

Bill resists the urge to tell Stephen that one of his co-conspirators is a woman, instead preferring to keep as many strategic secrets as possible. “Yeah, we’re ready as well. I just sent a text to one of them a few minutes ago. I received a response almost immediately. We’re ready to begin rebooting the system once the clock strikes midnight. We sometimes do it earlier, but let’s not do anything out of the ordinary. Not tonight.”

“Damn straight. Keep me posted. From my watch, it’s 11:03. Does your watch say the same thing?”

“It does.”

“Great. Fantastic. Very good. Let’s start as close to midnight as possible. In the meantime, me and my guys will review what’s about to happen once more. When you’re ready, text me. Then the show will get going.” Stephen looks at Thomas for approval of the plan. He nods. Taking this as a “yes,” Stephen signs off. “Over.”

“Over and out,” Bill responds with the glee of a child playing a spy game with his buddies. Stephen puts the radio back inside his jacket pocket. Bill puts his radio back on his desk. To calm his frazzled nerves, Bill gets up to get himself some scotch.

No ice, he decides. Now’s not the time for that.

After spending ten minutes reviewing the plan to his crew for the umpteenth time, all five men are now feeling confident in what they are about to do. There’s no going back. It’s now or never. Bill has repeatedly told Stephen that if any technical glitches were to unexpectedly come their way (such as a citywide power outage or large-scale systemic failure at the Austin HQ), he’d immediately tell him about it. Then, Stephen would have to decide whether or not to abort the whole mission. Bill doubts any such emergency would happen. Stephen, on the other hand, refuses to leave any stone unturned. He doesn’t believe in luck. He believes in preparation. Meticulous, intelligent, forthright preparation. Anything less than that would increase their odds of failure.

And as the cliché goes, failure is not an option. Not tonight. Not after all the countless hours and sleepless nights Stephan Callahan has had to endure because his former boss, Dylan Tanaka, betrayed him and threw him to the wolves.

This time, he intends to be the wolf.

***

“Here it is. The star of this evening’s show. My new favorite toy.” Peggy hands the 10.5-inch long dildo to Dylan. He inspects it with admiration, wondering in awe at how she was able to fit the entire thing inside her vagina. “I call it “Mr. Jerry,” as you found out. What do you think of him?”

“He’s something else,” Dylan observes. “Can’t say I’ve ever seen one as large as this before. I can see why you like it. It’s right up your alley, no pun intended!” This gets a mild snicker out of Peggy. At the end of the day, she’s no different than any other woman who’s ever walked this planet. Just because she works in the porn industry doesn’t mean she’s constantly thinking about sex, desiring sex, or wanting to have sex with anything with a pulse. She does have a plurality of partners – eight, to be exact – but they’re spread out across the world. She doesn’t see them all the time. Her currently live-in boyfriend, Roger, is a bisexual porn producer who also has multiple lovers (of all genders) scattered around the country. They have sex maybe once or twice a week, tops. Most of the time Peggy is at the gym, lifting heavy weights and working out just like any typical professional bodybuilder would. She’s not technically a professional bodybuilder at the moment, but her chosen profession does require her to be in top physical shape. Her appeal as a “sexy, curvy muscular Latina” has earned her tens of thousands of loyal fans across the globe. In addition to Roger, she also regularly goes to Morgan, a fellow female bodybuilder based in Las Vegas, for conjugal visits. Peggy loves dick, but she also loves pussy. Especially muscular pussy like hers. They have sex quite often, sometimes multiple times a day. That’s the advantage of lesbian relationships: They can go at it for as long as they want to without stopping, unlike guys. Peggy takes full advantage of her female parts when she’s with Morgan.

“Yeah, it’s quite a piece of machinery,” she says, eyeing Dylan’s penis getting a little bigger and bigger as their conversation continues. “But nothing beats the feeling of a real man inside me. I mean that honestly.”

Dylan turns to face Peggy. He knows she’s been with hundreds of lovers before (this is probably not an exaggeration). That doesn’t mean he wants to “rise above” any of them. He has nothing to prove. Still, he cannot help but feel some anxiety being with a woman whose experience with sex can fill multiple lifetimes. “Is that true? I…I saw the way this made you, you know, squirt to the high heavens. That was impressive.”

Luckily, it seems as though Peggy cleaned off “Mr. Jerry” between her earlier performance and now. It’s not sticky or dripping wet. Peggy takes the dildo out of Dylan’s hand and places it on top of a nearby credenza. She kisses him passionately. Dylan rubs his hands across her firm butt. Her pointed nipples dig into Dylan’s chest like a stab wound. He doesn’t mind it.

“It’s true. I love dildos. I love sex toys of all kinds. I really do,” Peggy says, moving her hands across his back to bring his body close to hers. “But nothing, I mean nothing, beats the feeling of a man inside me. And you can believe that. Take it to the bank, good sir.” Peggy gets down on her knees to lick the underside of Dylan’s scrotum. He moans, looking up at the ceiling as he feels her experienced tongue lap his sensitive flesh. By now, Peggy has become a true expert at giving head, but that’s not what’s in store for her and her lover. Tonight, she plans to do something a bit more…special.

“Go down on me. NOW!” she commands. Dylan obeys.

Peggy plops herself down on the bed, the sheets still containing the smells from her earlier coupling with Henry. Dylan also notices it, but figures it’s a new brand of fragrance she’s wearing. She spreads her legs out wide, inviting Dylan to taste her musky feminine parts. He gladly accepts her invitation, getting down on his knees and leaning his chest against the edge of the mattress so he can inspect her bits. Her engorged clitoris is large…though not as large as Melanie’s. Nobody in the history of womankind has had a larger clit than Melanie Wright, Dylan believes wholeheartedly. Peggy wouldn’t disagree with this assessment. Still, it’s a sight to behold. Dylan pokes with his tongue the large pink head protruding out of her dark brown clitoral hood. Her folds are already dripping wet, almost as if she’s in a state of constant arousal. Peggy groans as Dylan’s hot tongue touches her ultrasensitive bud. When Dylan slowly laps his tongue across it, shivers creep down her spine. She grabs hold of the bedsheets to brace herself for what she hopes will be an earthshattering orgasm.

“Oh fuck yeah, fuck yesssss babyyyyyyyy,” Peggy moans.

Dylan’s mouth envelopes her entire sex. Peggy closes her eyes as Dylan dutifully strokes her clit with his entire tongue. When he closes his lips around her bud, she knows this will end well. Dylan’s oral skills are second to none, as Melanie would testify to if she were here as a witness. Peggy feels the heat radiating off her body. She’s surprised the windows haven’t steamed up yet. Dylan’s mouth is exhausted between orally pleasing Melanie first and now Peggy. He doesn’t mind one bit. Both women deserve all the pleasure they can get. And then some.

“Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck………”

One final gentle tug at her clit with his lips is all it takes to send her over the edge. Waves of orgasm careen through her body. She’s enjoying it too much to say anything, not that there’s anything meaningful to say at the moment. Dylan’s lips come apart from her. He watches intently as she wiggles around the bed. Watching a woman orgasm might be just as fun as giving her an orgasm, Dylan decides.

After her heavy breathing subsides, Peggy reaches over to her purse to take out a condom. Unlike Melanie, Peggy’s prolific bedroom escapades require her to be as cautious as possible. Mostly for the sake of her lovers, not just her. She tears the foil, beckons Dylan to come closer to her, and kisses him once more. By now, his erection is standing at full attention. He knows he can’t compete with Kit, Henry, or “Mr. Jerry,” so they both agreed to a compromise, one that both of them find beneficial. After rolling the condom onto Dylan’s penis, Peggy also removes a bottle of lubrication from her purse. She opens it and hands it over to Dylan. He squeezes a small amount onto his index finger. Peggy turns around and gets on all fours, her butt facing out to him.

“Beautiful. Just beautiful,” Dylan remarks, admiring her muscular butt. Peggy slaps it hard, wanting to excite both him and her. It works.

“Come and get it!” she demands.

Slowly and methodically, Dylan inserts his lubed-up finger inside Peggy’s anus. Little by little, he pushes forth until his finger is completely inside her. Dylan made sure to clip his fingernails earlier this morning just for this reason. He circles it around, noticing this gives her a jolt of pleasure. The sound of her moans is music to his ears. He then removes his finger from her ass and applies additional lubrication to more of his fingers. Dylan strokes his hardened manhood, wanting to add more jelly to it despite the condom already being oiled. For this kind of penetration, it’s better to be safe than sorry. For the sake of everyone involved.

Once everything is properly prepared, Dylan grips Peggy’s hips with both hands. He positions his penis right in front of her tight entrance. She doesn’t speak a word. Neither does he. Carefully and cautiously, he pushes the head of his penis inside her anus, paying close attention to her body language. She doesn’t twitch or anything, a sure indication that he’s good to go. He now feels confident to go all in. Peggy’s moans get louder as Dylan fully enters her tight cavity. He also groans at the indescribable feeling of being in such a constricted space. It makes him feel like a “Man” with a capital M to be so tightly inside a woman like Peggy Cole, someone who’s had more lovers than most people have casual acquaintances. Full of confidence, he pushes in and out of her, his hands still gripping her hips. Peggy, to her credit, drops the fake “porn star orgasming shtick” and just enjoys the moment by rocking back and forth to Dylan’s rhythm. She’s been a porn actress for so long that she sometimes doesn’t know how to get out of character and be herself. This is one of those times when she wants to be who she really is.

Peggy’s reputation as a “size queen” is well deserved. Her sexual preferences require larger-than-normal vaginal penetration. However, for other types of sex she is as normal as one can imagine. For what they are engaging in at this very moment, Dylan is more than perfectly suited for the job.

“Oh, God damn it, Dylan. Fuck baby…”

“Fuck, I’m close, I’m so fucking close,” Dylan clenches his teeth, anticipating his third climax of the evening. He continues to rock back and forth, sliding himself as far in as he can go without losing balance. Making love to Melanie was a truly erotic experience rooted in genuine mutual affection. This, on the other hand, is a pure hard drive toward orgasm, an exercise in fucking a porn star in a way that thousands of people around the world could only dream of. He knows there are countless men who would commit murder to take his place at this moment. Dylan intends to cherish his privileged position for as long as possible.

Peggy’s throaty cries fill the room. Dylan, feeling as sexually empowered as he’s ever been in his life, drinks in her shrieks like a hypnotic drug. Peggy rejoices in the deep anal massage this man is joyfully giving her, thankful for the large amount of lube they used beforehand. She feels her pussy dripping wet as Dylan continues to pound relentlessly into her.

“Yesssssssssssssssss…” Peggy hisses.

One final forceful thrust sends Dylan to the point of no return. He collapses on top of her. Peggy falls to her belly, still spreading her legs so he can climax inside of her. This climax isn’t nearly as consequential as his previous ones, a testament to him being drained of energy and his relationship with Peggy. He loves her as a friend, but nothing more. She feels the exact same way about him. While he’s on her “list” of lovers, he’s not near the top. They both know it, so it’s not an awkward designation. It’s the way both of them want it.

“I haven’t done anal in a while. Whew! Fuck me, that was amazing. You’re good at this, Dylan baby darling.” Peggy scooches away from Dylan, forcing his softened manhood to slip out. Incredibly, the condom remains all the way on. After several moments of laying on his tummy, out of breath and still slightly drunk from the champagne (not to mention high from taking a few hits of Peggy’s joint), Dylan gets up and heads to the bathroom to clean up. Peggy checks herself in the mirror to make sure her makeup still looks presentable. It doesn’t. She digs through her purse to find some mascara, which desperately needs reapplication. A few moments later, Dylan emerges from the bathroom in mid-yawn. He watches Peggy reapply her face paint. Even though he knows nothing about makeup, there is something intriguing about watching an expert participate in their craft. Before becoming a bodybuilder and porn star, Peggy worked briefly as a makeup artist for one of Las Vegas’s local TV news stations. She was excellent at her job but didn’t find it satisfying enough. She wanted to do much more with her life. Thankfully for everyone who adores her, she eventually did.

“You look beautiful, Peggy,” Dylan kisses her on the neck. She closes her eyes, soaking in the feel of his warm lips on her skin. “You look like a queen.”

“How many queens look like a ‘roided up sex doll?” Peggy smirks. When she’s calm and collected (or high as a kite) she can exhibit a healthy dose of self-deprecating humor. This is obviously one of those times. She flexes her left bicep, looking at both herself and Dylan in the mirror.

“Oh dear, you shouldn’t tease yourself like that.” Dylan kisses her bicep peak. It’s not as full as Melanie’s biceps (very few women have biceps as large and vascular as Melanie Wright), a fact that doesn’t take away from Peggy’s accomplishments. Her physique is still impressive compared to most women, despite the fact she’s not as perfectly symmetrical or jaw-droppingly massive as Melanie. She’s big enough to earn her title as a “muscle chick” and hot enough in all the right places – including her massive breasts – to endear her to the porn community. “Though you do look like a ‘roided up sex doll, if I may say so myself!”

“You rude little boy!” Peggy playfully scolds him. She gives him a light slap on the butt as punishment. “I don’t look like a traditional woman, but then again I wouldn’t be where I am if I had stuck to tradition, that’s for damn sure. It pays to be different.”

“And…to not be afraid to be different.”

“Damn straight!” Peggy stands up. A few inches shorter than Dylan, she tilts her head up slightly to look into his eyes. Peggy thinks he’s fairly handsome, maybe a good professional haircut away from being low-key sexy. She’s told him this many times before, but Dylan simply brushes it off as her being nice to him. She kisses him. Their lips take a long time to come apart. Neither of them wants to rush this. “This has been a lovely evening, baby. I’ve had a great time. I seriously can’t think of the last time I had this much fun.”

“Seriously? Isn’t your life one long continuous party?”

“That’s funny, but no,” Peggy laughs. “You’d think the life of a porn star is all fun, glitz, glamour, and orgasms, but it’s much more boring than you’d think. Arguing over pay, complaining about the shitty food on set, waiting forever for the male performers to get hard again, fighting with lawyers over bootleg copies of our DVDs, shit like that. Not to mention all the backstabbing, gossiping, and other shit that happens in every workplace. It’s funny to think of it that way, but it is a workplace. Not like the places you’ve worked, but similar. I guess.”

“That makes sense. Workplace politics is universal, whether we think it is or not.” Dylan fondles Peggy’s breasts, teasing her nipples with his fingers. They’re a handful, both literally and figuratively. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Please, baby. Ask away.”

“It’s fine if you did, and I’m not upset or anything, I’m just curious. Did you and Henry hook up earlier tonight?”

Peggy’s face becomes serious. She’s certain Dylan means what he says when he claims he’s not angry about it, though it is curious why he’d ask about it. “Yeah, we did. A few times. Right here, in fact. While you and Melanie were up in your bedroom. He’s a sweet man. You know that. And he’s great in bed, as I just found out.”

Dylan smiles, nodding his head with gleeful approval. “That’s great. For both of you. He’s a big fan of yours. He loves you. Over the years we’ve talked endlessly about you, your career, and your best videos. He was really excited to see you this weekend. I’m sure it never occurred to him that he’d be able to, uh, you know, bang you. Pardon my language.”

“No apology needed.” Peggy pinches Dylan’s soft penis, hoping to wake it up again. She knows guys can’t go at it as often as women can, but there’s always hope. Even if it’s faint. Dylan shakes his head, signaling he’s not in the mood – and probably done for the evening. As much as he’d love to, Dylan knows he’s spent. Anything more would probably cause him to fall asleep right then and there. As the host of the evening’s festivities, that would be supremely rude.

“Thanks, but I think I’ve had enough fun for one night,” Dylan declares. Peggy kisses him on the cheek, which tells him she understands where he stands. She takes his hand into her hand, swinging it back and forth. They head back to the cabaret room hand-in-hand, Peggy’s head lightly leaning against his shoulder. A triumphant grin can be seen on Dylan’s face.

***

“Make sure you keep your back as straight as you can,” Melanie instructs Henry. “Think of it like there’s a metal rod going straight down your spine from your head down to your butt. Meaning you can’t arch your back no matter how hard you try.”

Henry is currently standing on stage in the cabaret room, attempting a few bodybuilding poses while being coached up by Melanie and Monique. Melanie is the true expert here, although Monique has dabbled in amateur bodybuilding before. The chef-turned-faux-bodybuilder has already demonstrated side chest and front lat spread. He’s now attempting side triceps. Melanie gives him a candid smirk of approval. He feels a bit silly, especially because he’s “out of shape” by his own definition and is surrounded by three beautiful athletic ladies who are a cut above anything he could ever dream of being. A tad out of his league, Henry decides to be a good sport and do his best.

The ladies seem to be enjoying themselves, so that counts for something.

“Like this?” Henry holds his breath, hoping that sucking in his potbelly will help matters. He doubts it will. Monique stifles a laugh.

“Yeah, just like that. Just hold that pose for eight to ten seconds, if you can,” Melanie teases. “I’m just kidding. You can drop it whenever you feel like it. You may not look like a pro, but you are worth, ahem, looking at.” She shifts her eyes downward toward Henry’s impressive member. He blushes, which is probably not noticeable under the oppressively bright stage lights. It’s definitely not normal for him to be this naked for this long in front of more than one woman (let alone three!), so he’s not exactly accustomed to all this attention. His clothes are still sitting in Peggy’s bedroom.

“Ah, thanks Miss Melanie. I appreciate the compliment.”

“Melanie! I think you’re embarrassing him,” Monique chastises. “As a black woman, I can attest to the fact that the stereotypes you’ve heard about black men aren’t always true. Buuuuuuuuuuut…” Both ladies are now staring impolitely at Henry’s crotch, enjoying the opportunity to unapologetically objectify a man for a change. “You, my dear, do in fact fit every stereotype in the goddamn book. Wowee!”

Usually a polite man himself, Henry chooses to remain quiet once he realizes it’s only fair that these ladies should be able to ogle him in the same way he ogles cute girls he sees on the street. It may be uncomfortable, but it’s well worth it, Henry rationalizes. As fortune would have it, the tension breaks when Peggy and Dylan reenter the room. Holding hands like old lovers, Henry looks to see Melanie’s reaction. Her face is as unexpressive as a bald eagle. This does not surprise him. Melanie’s not the jealous type, or so he’s heard.

“We’re back! Did you miss us?” Peggy throws her hands up like a princess entering the throne room. Once she sees Henry standing on stage under the bright lights, she runs to him like a paparazzi chasing after a Grammy Award-winning singer. “Well, I’ll be damned! Henry my dear, you should seriously consider becoming a bodybuilder like the rest of us. You’ve got great body composition. You can tell when someone has the natural physique for being a competitor, even if they haven’t never lifted a weight in their life. You can tell, am I right girls?”

“Oh yeah, you can tell by the fullness of someone’s legs, the way their body fat is dispersed, and how much muscle they can develop without lifting,” Melanie posits. She rubs her chin like a scientist spelling out a groundbreaking hypothesis. “That’s what somebody told me all the way back in middle school. I looked like an athlete, even though I hated gym class and never did sports before. I think he was just hitting on me, though. I can’t remember.” Dylan winks at Henry, a nonverbal cue that he appreciates the fact he’s putting up with the ladies’ shenanigans like a complete gentleman. Henry sighs, acknowledging his boss’s show of appreciation. Dylan pours himself another glass of champagne – the bottles are now practically empty – and sips it as he walks to the front of the dais.

“Whatever he was doing, he was right. And prescient.” Dylan squeezes Melanie’s meaty forearms. She seems happy with this gesture, as if he’s proactively trying to make her forget that he and Peggy just made love. “Words of encouragement can go a long way, especially when we’re young. That’s something we should always remember and never forget. Our words have power. I suppose that’s still true when an adult speaks to an adult. I remember the first time I really had a conversation with Monique. Remember that, my darling?”

“The rooftop restaurant in Miami? Oh yeah, I remember that. How could I forget?” Monique reminisces about that fateful luncheon. It was then when Dylan revealed his intentions to financially sponsor her Olympic bid. “For whatever reason, I just really admire women who break the traditional mold by being strong, athletic, and driven to win,” was what he told her. Those words are forever burned into Monique’s memory. She’ll remember it word-for-word for the rest of her life. She always thought of herself as someone who strives to “break the mold,” but nobody had ever told her that before. Those were words she never heard anybody say to her, despite a bounty of evidence that that’s exactly what she wants to be.

Someone who defies expectations and does things people literally say are impossible.

Just retire.

You’ll never win a Gold medal.

You’ll never overcome your injury.

You had a good run. Quit while you’re ahead.

She’s heard all that bullshit before, oftentimes from the people closest to her. Her parents, her friends, her trainers, even her boyfriend from time to time. But not Dylan Tanaka. He’s always believed in her…and never ceases to remind her of his belief in her. That means something. Always has, always will.

“That’s why I try to act intentionally,” Dylan continues. “In everything I do. I try to treat everyone with respect and dignity, even when they haven’t done the same for me.” He bows his head and stares down at his lukewarm champagne. Melanie wraps her enormous arms around him, squeezing him tightly. He tries not to cry, a feat he (astonishingly enough) actually accomplishes. Peggy, Henry, and Monique can only awkwardly look around the room in silence, hoping someone will speak first.

Nobody does.

***

“It’s time.”

Stephen Callahan decides it’s now or never. Moments earlier Bill Marks sent him a simple text message that says:

Ready.

That’s all he needs to know.

He sends a quick message back instructing him to “get the show on the road.” Then, Stephen turns on his Bluetooth earpiece so he can communicate with Bill verbally. “Let’s start the fireworks, old boy. We’re heading out.” After raising his hand so the inhabitants of the SUV can see the signal, all five men exit their respective vehicles. Stephen is carrying an empty briefcase and wearing his backpack. Thomas trudges along with his rolling suitcase and duffle bag. Roddy is also carrying a duffle bag, but this one is empty. Xander and Cortez are not carrying anything, but they do have spare clips hiding underneath their coats.

“Everything is ready to go, hang on a moment,” Bill says over the phone. He opens an encrypted chat window with one of his MPSS co-conspirators. The time is now 11:57 p.m. In three minutes, his criminal act officially begins. From the engineering side of the scheme, all seems ready to go as well. “I can confirm that we’re ready to get going once the clock strikes midnight. Hopefully, Cinderella doesn’t have a pumpkin carriage waiting for her outside the ballroom.”

“If so, we’re all royally fucked, with or without the glass slipper,” Stephen replies back. The five men quietly stroll through the neighborhood toward Dylan’s property. For such a wealthy community, Stephen is surprised at how little lighting there is on this small street. Only one tall streetlight located right at the entrance of the cul-de-sac. Because of this, he and his men can go by without anyone seeing them. So far, they do not see any pedestrians enjoying a late-night walk through the neighborhood.

“One minute until showtime,” Bill announces.

“Copy that.”

Roddy, Cortez, and Xander remain uncharacteristically quiet. This is, in their estimation, the riskiest part of the heist. Getting in. After that, they don’t expect Dylan to put up much of a fight. He’s all alone in his big fancy mansion. No bodyguards. No butler. No cook. No guests. No one except for this lousy, pathetic, and lonely parasite. Stephen wishes he could catch him while he’s jerking off to a b-level 90’s-era HBO sex movie just to embarrass him even more. That would be delicious. It would be fitting for what he aims to do.

“Ready. Stand by.” Bill wipes a drop of sweat from his brow. He can feel his heart racing a million beats per minute. If he were to drop dead from a heart attack right then and there, it would be pure poetic justice, he’s decided. He’d probably deserve it, too.

Bill watches his computer screen move through the normal routine of a monthly system reboot. A popup window says it’s about to begin. He waits for it to disappear under his “notifications” tab. A progress bar shows up, showing the reboot has begun. So far, it’s at 1%. It takes approximately 15 to 18 minutes for the process to finish. Right on schedule, he receives a text from Roger, one of his co-conspirators, telling him all the homes in the 98112, 98122, and 98144 zip codes are officially “disconnected” from the mother system. Bill breathes a sigh of relief.

“Systems are down in your zone, I repeat, systems are down in your zone. You and your men are clear to enter the property as undetected as a housefly,” Bill informs Stephen. While Bill may be struggling to maintain his composure, on the other end, Stephen Callahan is struggling to contain his excitement.

“Thank you, buddy. I appreciate the good news. Anything else you wish to inform me before we cut off communication for now?” The four men surrounding Stephen stop breathing momentarily so they can listen in on their conversation.

“No, boss. We’re good to go. Nothing else to discuss, unless you want to talk about the Dodgers and whether or not they’ll win the World Series this year.” Bill amuses himself with his own irreverence. He eyes an unopened bottle of scotch sitting on a shelf across the room, tempting him like a Greek Siren. He needs something to help him calm down.

“Good. I’ll be in touch soon. Over and out.” Stephen doesn’t wait for verbal confirmation to turn off his Bluetooth earpiece. By now, the five men are standing right outside Dylan Tanaka’s main gate. There’s a modest pedestrian entrance off to the left side and a keypad above the door handle. Thomas takes out a device that looks like a ballpoint pen, holds it against the keypad, and twists the clip outward. This activates the machine. Roddy, Cortez, and Xander watch with amazement as this gadget disguised as a writing utensil scrambles the keypad, essentially deactivating it. Thomas puts the “pen” back in his pocket and leisurely opens the door as if he owned the place.

“Excellent. Follow me.” Stephen leads the way. Thomas closes the door behind him once everyone has entered the property.

“Damn! I got to get me one of those!” Xander whispers to Cortez. Roddy hushes him up, not wanting to make any unnecessary noise, especially now that they’ve entered the hot zone.

The house’s spacious driveway is enclosed by tall grey and white brick walls, ensuring none of his nosey neighbors could spy on him (or see who enters and leaves the property). Stephen crouches low regardless just to be safe and is pleased to see his four comrades following suit. They gently walk in a straight line along the bricks to make sure anyone inside the house to the right – which is four stories high but situated about a hundred yards away – can’t possibly see them. The cover of darkness also makes this an irrelevant precaution. Still, Stephen refuses to allow even the possibility of failure to creep into tonight’s activities.

Stephen and his men have decided to first locate Dylan before breaking in so that he doesn’t have time to find his phone and call the cops. All five men have night vision binoculars and are looking at every visible window. Dylan’s three-story house (Stephen doesn’t consider the attic an actual floor) appears to be completely empty except for the man himself. Nobody is in the kitchen or dining room (both are visible through the left side of the first floor), as well as any of the bedrooms on the second floor. There is a light on in the foyer and the living room, but nobody appears to be in either of those spaces. As the thieves make their way into the backyard, all five men are startled by the beauty of Dylan’s spacious Japanese garden and try to block it from their thinking. Now is not the time to sightsee.

Damn. This place looks nicer up close than in satellite photos, Stephen thinks. So this is how he chooses to spend his blood money. It must be nice being a rich, petty fool with no conscience. You can spend it on extravagancies like this while old friends like me rot away in prison. Fuck that.

“Ah ha! Look up there,” Thomas points to the second and third floors. A faint light is seen coming out of the third-floor balcony. The flickering suggests it’s from a fireplace. A longer balcony going across the entire backside of the second story, on the other hand, clearly shows a much brighter light emanating from behind the scarlet red curtains. No flickering detected.

“He must be on the second floor. What do you think?” Roddy asks. Stephen shakes his head.

“It’s impossible to tell from this angle. Perhaps if we–” Before Stephen can finish his sentence, all five men see a shadow quickly fly across the scarlet curtains. Indistinct music can be heard, which further provides evidence that Mr. Tanaka is on the other side of those curtains.

“Can you hear some music?” Cortez asks. Everyone nods their heads silently.

“It’s confirmed. He’s up there,” Stephen decides. He cocks his pistol. “Let’s go inside and make ourselves comfortable.”

“With pleasure,” Thomas says. With that, the veteran safecracker calmly walks up to the screen door leading to the kitchen/dining area. Not worried about sounding any alarms, he takes out a tiny drill, points it right at the door handle, and cuts away a ten-inch-long half-circle of glass so he can access the lock from the other side. The four other men marvel at how silently the drill cuts away at the glass. Thomas fashioned an extremely sharp blade at the end of a low-power drill, which gives him the ability to pierce the thick glass without having to generate a lot of torque – and noise that comes with high torque. Within 90 seconds, he’s cut away all the glass he needs. Thomas gently places the glass on the ground and unlocks the door. The men enter Dylan’s home. Out of the corner of his eye, Xander sees a blinking red light coming from a wall right across from the screen door. He knows the signal won’t reach the security company or the local police station, but his heart cannot help but skip a beat just at the sight of it blinking like mad. It’s an involuntary reflex.

“Relax. We’re good. Trust my people to do what they’re supposed to do. We’re fine. We’re good,” Stephen reassures his men. This brings Xander’s heart rate back to normal, whatever that was before.

As the group weaves through all the rooms, they finally reach the front of the house and see the gothic-looking spiral staircase that leads to the second (and presumably third) floor. It’s in the foyer that the music becomes more pronounced. It’s definitely confirmed that Dylan Tanaka is there, probably drowning his sorrows all alone to cheap second-rate jazz music he probably got off Spotify.

“Let’s get it.” Stephen arrogantly says in a normal voice. The four other men are surprised by his cockiness.

One by one, the five armed bandits nonchalantly walk up the staircase as if they were welcomed guests themselves, awaiting what they expect to be a pathetic lonely man sitting all by himself drinking cheap wine and listening to knockoff Miles Davis.

Poetry in Motion: The Most Beautiful Sight of My Life

The fun really starts after these come off!
The fun really starts after these come off!

Author’s note: None of the women whose photos are featured in this post is the woman I’ve referred to as Muscle Angel. Her identity will not be revealed even if you privately ask me. So to confirm, Sol Meneghini, Emery Miller, and Alina Popa are not Muscle Angel. Thanks!

Two years ago I scheduled a muscle worship session with a well-known female bodybuilder. Such an occurrence happens three or four times per year for me, so this is nothing out of the ordinary.

I hadn’t seen her before, but definitely had heard of her. I won’t reveal her true identity, but I will say this to describe her: She’s a gorgeous, accomplished, internationally renowned female bodybuilder, model, and session provider with an impeccably sexy reputation. She’s easy to get along with and genuinely wants her clients to enjoy themselves during their time together. For the sake of this story, I’ll refer to her as Muscle Angel.

Muscle Angel was travelling to Seattle in the summer of 2015 as part of her usual trip throughout the continental United States. She was born in another country (I won’t tell you where) but spoke perfect English with an adorable foreign accent accompanying it. Because I knew of her beforehand, and admired her immense beauty and achievements, I had to schedule a muscle worship session with Muscle Angel. I mean, how could I not?

So, I e-mailed her and requested a one-hour long sensual muscle worship session. She offered three options: bikini, topless or nude. I was willing to pay a bit extra, so I went with nude. If you’re going to go there, why not go all the way?

She was cordial via e-mail and I got a positive vibe from her. Leading up to our appointment I watched as many videos I could find of her. Oh boy, I knew I was in for a treat! Her gracefulness, her exotic beauty, and her irresistibly curvy muscles were the total package. You couldn’t ask for anything else. I would be a fool to pass up this opportunity.

Plus, she didn’t skimp when it came to her lodging arrangements. Muscle Angel stayed at one of the fancier and highly regarded hotels in the heart of downtown Seattle. Usually FBBs stay at more affordable motels close to Seattle-Tacoma International Airport (just a side note, I happen to live a few miles south of the airport, so I usually luck out when I see an FBB for a session by not having to travel very far). But not Muscle Angel. She obviously has expensive tastes. She doesn’t just want to stay in the city – she wants to enjoy all the luxuries it can offer her. I have no qualms about that sort of attitude.

Eventually, the evening of our appointment arrived. I took the commuter train to the downtown area and walked a few blocks to the hotel. I had been there before for a work-related conference, so I knew where it was. But it would be the first time I would ever go inside a suite – especially for the occasion of seeing a gorgeous female bodybuilder in the flesh! It was dark and humid outside, but I knew in a matter of moments I would be feeling much more comfortable.

A lucky guy working on making sure Sol Meneghini is ready for a photoshoot.
A lucky guy working on making sure Sol Meneghini is ready for a photoshoot.

Like always, I nervously waited in the lobby to receive the magical text from her telling me which room she is staying at. It came. I quickly got up from my seat and headed to the elevator. Surprisingly, she was staying on the 45th floor! It’s definitely one of the highest points you can reach within the city limits. The elevator ride was not as long as you’d expect. Luxury hotels tend to have fantastically functioning elevators that get you from point A to point B in a matter of seconds.

I walked briskly to her room and knocked on the door as casually as I could. A few moments later the door opened. And there she was. Wow! As gorgeous as you could imagine, Muscle Angel was indeed angelic. It’s one thing to see photos and videos of someone; it’s quite another to actually meet them in-person. Trust me, the experience of seeing her in the flesh nearly made me collapse right there on the floor. Luckily, I was able to maintain my composure and I confidently walked inside to commence our time together.

After shutting the door and allowing us all the privacy in the world, we exchanged the usual pleasantries, small talk, and of course her financial compensation. I undressed and got as “comfortable” as I could possibly be. She wore a sexy two piece bikini to start off the evening. Muscle Angel looked like a natural Beach Beauty who could spend all her days lying on the sand, soaking up UV rays and sipping on margaritas. Alas, she obviously doesn’t spend her time on such frivolities. She also goes to the gym every once in a while!

Our time together was pretty laid back. I’m not interested in wrestling, so we spent the majority of our time chatting while I enjoyed the privilege of feeling up her rock hard body. Muscle Angel wore a modest amount of makeup, as if she needed artificial means to enhance her already considerable beauty. No additional assistance was necessary, if you ask me. Her jet black hair, dark eyes, and light bronze skin gave her an exotic look that made her ethnicity hard to identify. And her accent was so delightful it sent shivers up my spine.

As the hour wore on, Muscle Angel eventually took off her bikini top and bottom and allowed her body to exist in its natural state. And trust me, seeing her in the nude almost made my jaw drop to the floor. It didn’t of course, but if that hadn’t happen then the entire room should have caught on fire and burned to the ground. Thankfully, that didn’t transpire either.

Muscle Angel, in the nude, was simply breathtaking. Every single inch of her immaculate body looked deliberately sculpted to achieve a level of “perfection.” She wasn’t super huge, which worked to her advantage. She was undeniably feminine. Her curves had extra curves. For a middle-aged woman, Muscle Angel appeared ageless. She’s in a perfect stage of her life: Not too young, not too old, but aged enough to convey wisdom, sexual experience, and worldliness.

And she conveyed all of those things, no question about it. Out of all the female bodybuilders I’ve met for muscle worship sessions throughout the years, Muscle Angel is probably the most perfect combination of brains, beauty, muscularity, and erotic vivacity that I’ve ever encountered. She doesn’t particularly excel at any of those things, but she’s one of the best at embodying them all in a way that’s respectable and difficult to replicate.

I’ve met FBBs who are prettier. I’ve met FBBs who are more muscular. I’ve met FBBs who have more engaging personalities. I’ve met FBBs who are flat out sexier. But none of them could hold a candle to Muscle Angel when it comes to personifying everything you could ask for in one package. That’s not an easy feat.

Emery Miller is poetry posing by some rocks.
Emery Miller is poetry posing by some rocks.

This particular session was noteworthy for the fact it was the first time I had ever given cunnilingus to a muscular woman. Muscle Angel was open and willing for me to “go down” on her and orally please her. Her beautiful big clit tasted wonderful, as did her completely shaved (or waxed) pubic area. I have no idea if I was able to make her come, but that didn’t really matter to me at the moment. I was just beside myself at the reality of being able to place my tongue and lips against an FBB’s considerably enormous genitalia.

As our time together neared its end, I laid on the bed – as naked as I could be – while Muscle Angel got up to get a bottle of baby oil from her suitcase. Obviously, it was time for me to receive a hand job and experience the so-called “happy ending” that so often concludes these kinds of festivities. It was at that moment that I experienced The Most Beautiful Sight of My Life.

The floor-to-ceiling window illuminated the room with moonlight. Anyone who happened to have been looking at the 45th floor could have seen us, naked and vulnerable. Well, I was vulnerable. She wasn’t. Muscle Angel was in her element. She walked gracefully from one end of the room back to the bed. She was as naked as the day she was born. But she wasn’t naked. She was nude. She was powerful. She was magnificent. She was sexy. She had all the authority to be whatever she wanted to be.

For a brief period of time – four or five seconds – I saw The Most Beautiful Sight of My Life. I saw a gorgeous strong naked woman strut around like a true Goddess. She transcended her humanity. She became not a human being, but a deity. She was an immortal walking amongst us mere mortals. I felt like I was in the presence of Greatness. I was in the presence of the Divine. I was witnessing poetry in motion. Muscle Angel was positively angelic – in every sense of the word. I knew I would never see a sight quite like this ever again in my life.

Her hips sensually swayed from side to side. Every time she lifted her leg I could see her muscular calves swell up. Her hair glistened. Her golden brown skin looked like actual gold, as if King Midas had touched every single inch of her body. Her breasts were slender but uniquely feminine. Her curvaceous figure defied any great artist’s imagination. Her neatly waxed pubic area was classy. And of course, her beautifully sculpted muscles were awe-inspiring. Her pretty face was complemented with icy brown eyes that expressed confidence and authority all at the same time.

A view from the top.
A view from the top.

When you looked into her eyes, you knew you were in the presence of a true alpha female who wasn’t embarrassed by her femininity and freely uses it to her advantage. Yet, she also had a caring and nurturing side. She loves being sexy but doesn’t try to be sexy, if that makes any sense. She doesn’t need to “act sultry” in order to heat up the room. All she had to do is to be herself…and her naturalistic sensuality could play out uninterrupted.

Unfortunately, those four or five seconds had to end. But from my perspective, it lasted for an eternity. Forever will this image be burned into my memory: An absolutely gorgeous woman strutting around with the perfect combination of sexiness, confidence, coolness, and nonchalance. Once again, Muscle Angel didn’t have to try to be sexy. She just was. Without putting in any effort. That takes more than just talent or skill. That cannot be taught. That’s an ability that only an exclusive number of people can possess.

The rest of the evening went about as you would expect it to. We got frisky. She generously provided me orgasmic relief. We kissed and hugged “good bye.” I went home with a big fat grin on my face. Muscle Angel proceeded to get a good night’s rest and probably left for the airport first thing the next morning to catch a flight to her next destination. I don’t recall where that was. The next day was a work day so I had to somehow wake up and slog through an 8-hour borefest all the while trying to not get distracted by the previous evening’s erotic shenanigans.

But alas, I’ll never forget our time together. Most of all, I will never forget The Most Beautiful Sight of My Life: a strong, confident woman walking nude in front of a large open window for all the world to see. She looked majestic. She was so damn strong and so undeniably feminine at the same time. Her sexiness was effortless. She didn’t try to be sexy. She just was. That’s remarkable.

Alina Popa rocking a sexy dress that shows off her best assets.
Alina Popa rocking a sexy dress that shows off her best assets.

As I reflect upon the fact that the curtains were drawn back, it occurs to me that perhaps Muscle Angel wasn’t just “performing” for me. She was actually performing for the entire Universe. Of course, odds are nobody really saw her through the 45th story window, but what if someone did? There’s the microscopic yet somewhat plausible chance that at least one lucky bloke happened to have been gazing out his window and caught a peek of Muscle Angel in all her glory. Wow, can you imagine how heart attack-inducing such a brief glimpse would be?

The biggest reason why watching her walk from one side of the room to the other with the curtains drawn back is The Most Beautiful Sight of My Life isn’t just the fact that the moonlight perfectly accentuated Muscle Angel’s flawless body. It wasn’t just her body. It was the confidence with which she paraded that body. She’s worked damn hard to achieve her physique. And nothing would get in the way of allowing her to show it off.

I may have been the only audience member in attendance at that particular moment. Or there could have been others that neither of us knew about. But having the curtains drawn back perhaps symbolically signified that Muscle Angel wanted the whole world to see her. It’s irrelevant whether anyone else other than me actually saw her. What matters is that if someone had, Muscle Angel would allow it and relish it. Being nude empowers her. And she refuses to hide that part of her identity.

Regardless, the way she walked communicated not just confidence, but a deeply held sense of self-respect. Not narcissism, but genuine self-respect. She isn’t embarrassed by who she is. There isn’t anything about her body or soul that she needs to hide. She wasn’t just showing off her nude body – she was showing off her bare soul. She was showing me who she is as a person. Her body is crucial to her identity as a female bodybuilder. It’s only fitting that showing it off to appreciative eyes would be the way she could best live it out.

Were my eyes appreciative? You better believe it, buddy. And did she have a body that could transcend its physical limitations and actually offer a candid mirror into her soul?

In a word, yes.

So I suppose it wasn’t just poetry in motion. It was her life’s story playing out on the global stage. Her biography embedded on her muscular flesh. I’m just blessed to have been able to witness it.

Muscle Goddess on the Beach

All I need is a warm beach, a cold drink and a beautiful female bodybuilder by my side. Is that too much to ask for?
All I need is a warm beach, a cold drink and a beautiful female bodybuilder by my side. Is that too much to ask for?

The crashing of waves against the white sandy beach echoes along the secluded picturesque shore. Moonlight floods from every direction, illuminating the night sky. The gentle breeze barely resonate a sound, but imposes itself just enough to encourage the tall palm trees to sway back and forth.

Walking hand-in-hand next to the foamy green water with her, I still cannot believe how lucky I am at this moment in time. Kristina is her name. A competitive female bodybuilder, entrepreneur and rising star on the world stage, it makes absolutely no sense why she would choose to be with me. She could be with any man in the world. So why me?

Why not someone else – someone more handsome, rich and influential?

“Look, darling! I think I just saw a dolphin over there!” Kristina points out to sea, insisting she saw a majestic cetacean mammal gliding across the frothy waters. I do believe I saw out of the corner of my eye a black figure dancing across the tide, but my focus and attention is elsewhere. All I want to do is to look at her.

Standing at an imposing 6’ 4”, Kristina is all muscle, completely ripped from head to toe. Nearing her 50th birthday, it also seems rather odd for a woman of her age to be holding hands with a young man who hasn’t hit 25 just yet. But here we are, drinking in the midnight air on the shores of paradise like two old lovers.

Her grip on my hand becomes tighter as we see two more dolphins leap high into the air and splash into the water. Poetry in motion. I caress her large bicep, feeling the long purple vein protruding down the middle of it. She may be more than twice my age, but she is without a doubt the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid eyes on. We met just a few days ago. She just completed a competition and needed a well-deserved vacation. I happen to live here in this beach city, so I am accustomed to being surrounded by tourists.

But not tourists like Kristina. She’s a one-of-a-kind.

“I don’t want this night to end, my love,” I impulsively whisper into her ear. Wait, what? Did I just call her “my love?” How could I be so foolish? How can I possibly call a woman I hardly know “my love” when she could very well be married and have kids who are my age? What am I doing assuming that…

“Nor do I, my love,” she whispers back.

Well. That settles matters!

We continue walking for several minutes in complete silence. Her grip never loosens. We eventually reach a more secluded part of the beach, away from drunk partiers, debris, empty beer bottles and all signs of humanity. The bright moon blankets the entire beach with its intrusive glow. I love the feeling of the cool sand tickling my toes. However, I love being with Kristina even more. We look like an odd pair. Her tall stature and jaw-dropping muscular body is certainly an unusual sight compared to my smaller frame and shorter height. But I don’t mind one bit. She’s a heavenly Goddess and I am infinitely lucky to be with her right now.

I really want to caress the bicep of Beata Antoninas.
I really want to caress the bicep of Beata Antoninas.

Kristina turns to face me. She leans over and kisses me. Her hot lips steal my breath. Her musky scent is like sweet perfume. Her gorgeous face, while touched with the inevitable lines and wrinkles of age, can still make your heart stop when you gaze upon it. Just looking at her navy blue eyes is enough to erupt a giddy energy within me.

“We’re all alone,” she observes.

“Yes, we are. What shall we do with the rest of our evening?” We snuggle close. The cool midnight breeze is a welcomed change from the hot and humid 90 degree heat endured by all of us earlier in the day. I will accept these conditions every single time.

“As you said before, you don’t want this evening to end, am I right?”

“Right.”

“Then let’s make sure that doesn’t happen, lover boy.” With that, Kristina pulls me in close and kisses me again. She boldly unzips my pants and pulls down my underwear. I gasp so hard while kissing her it nearly causes me to choke. But I do nothing to stop her. She fondles my penis, encouraging it to swell in her hands. When our lips come apart, I reach behind her and unhook the back of her dress. My arms barely reach around her thick torso. Never in my life did I ever expect I’d be with such a strong beautiful woman as Kristina. But here I am, living out a fantasy most men could only dream about.

“My pleasure, Kristina,” I whisper in her ear. Taking my time, I patiently push her yellow sundress lower and lower, struggling to unravel the tight fabric from her large, bulky body. How she is able to put on any article of clothing without it ripping to shreds is a mystery to me!

Finally, the dress pools around her ankles. She kicks it away from her feet and lets it lie in the smooth sand. We finish denuding each other, completely careless about the fact that at any moment we could be spotted by a passerby. If we get caught in the act, so be it. Let them watch. We don’t care.

Stark naked, Kristina backs away and shows off a series of award-winning bodybuilding poses. Watching her immaculate body at work is enough to make me forget to breathe.

“God, you look incredible,” I say, in almost a trance-like state. “You’re the most gorgeous woman I’ve ever met in my life.”

“Thank you. You don’t look so bad yourself.”

I look down at my own naked body and feel self-conscious. Does she really think I look good? I’m sure she’s accustomed to seeing guys who look way better than me. How do I compare? Is she just being nice to me, or is she genuinely telling me the truth? How can I know either way? What should–

Before I could finish my ramblings thoughts, Kristina tackles me and knocks me to the ground. She kisses me and playfully bites my upper lip. I press my tongue against hers and we taste each other’s saliva. It may not sound too romantic, but up to now this is the hottest thing I’ve ever done in my life. Her sizzling breathe delightfully burns the inside of my mouth.

May I please cuddle up with Deidre Pagnanelli?
May I please cuddle up with Deidre Pagnanelli?

Wasting no time at all, Kristina spreads her legs wide across the ground, burying her toes in the sand. She pinches the base of my penis and positions it in front of her moist entryway. I take in a deep breath. She lets out a moan as she rubs my hard shaft against her engorged clitoris. She refuses to wait any further and lowers herself onto my manhood. We both let out audible groans as we intimately join together. Kristina experiments with a few up and down thrusts as I grab her breasts and pinch her erect nipples.

Bodybuilding may have made her breasts small and flat, but I still treat them as if they were the most beautiful pair in the world. Her nipples, sticking out a full inch, are dark pink and clearly sensitive to the touch – judging from her sudden twitch when I take one of them into my mouth. Kristina powerfully thrusts down hard on my penis, sending jolts of pleasure throughout my whole body. Her enormous frame engulfs my entire being. Covered from head to toe with her hard feminine flesh, I am trapped underneath her…though I have no reasons to complain about this.

As a reckless wave of seawater splashes across a nearby protruding rocky cliff, a warm current of air sweeps across our bodies. Goosebumps form across Kristina’s broad back. I desperately want to feel every single one of them. I want to brush my fingers up and down every mound of muscle on her back, experiencing the fruits of all her pull-ups, deadlifts and bent over barbell rows. Thankfully, I have this moment and many more moments afterward to appreciate her hard work.

“I want you to come inside me, baby,” Kristina pleads with me.

“I’m almost there, gorgeous lady,” I reply. Our lips meet. She bites down on my lower lip. I extend my tongue into her mouth and explore. She meets my tongue with hers. The tension builds to a fever level. We are both close to climax but want to delay it as long as possible. Kristina pulls away from me and massages my scrotum with her callused fingers.

“Let’s not end the party quite yet, mister.”

“What do you suggest we do in the meantime?” I remain laying face-up. The cool soft sand feels incredible against my backside. Kristina keeps on massaging my balls as I reach out and caress her thighs, which are as thick as tree trunks. All her long hours of squatting heavy bone-crunching weights have paid off considerably. Every detail of her quads are well defined. I move down to her calves. They are equally enormous. My hands cannot grasp all of it.

We can all use more Sheila Rock in our lives.
We can all use more Sheila Rock in our lives.

“I suggest we enjoy each other’s bodies,” she says. Kristina moves away from my balls and caresses my chest, tickling my nipples in the process. I jolt up in gleeful surprise when she playfully pinches them hard.

“Oh, Kristina. You know how to drive me mad, you know that?”

“I can only imagine how much I drive you insane. Do you know a lot of women like me?” She proudly flexes her big swollen biceps – bouncing them up and down with impressive precision. I sit up and lick her plump bicep peak. She responds by flexing even harder. The tips of the mountains sitting on her arms are a breathtaking sight to behold. I start to wonder if her bulging muscles will burst out of her skin!

“I have never met a woman as beautiful and strong as you, my dear. Never in my life,” I say to her between licks. “I can guarantee you of that.” My hands reach out and stroke her six-pack abdomen. I feel like I’m going to climax just from doing that. Surprisingly, I remain in control. My fingers go lower and pinch her engorged clitoris. Enlarged from years of using human growth hormones, from a distance it could look like Kristina has a man’s penis. She doesn’t, though. Kristina is unmistakably ALL woman.

“Thank you, darling. I like the way you look, too.” Showing her sincerity, Kristina leaves a trail of kisses down my tummy and ends between my legs. She lightly smooches the tip of my penis. I still struggle to keep my composure together. Kristina giggles at my predicament. Finally, she takes me into her big strong arms and hugs me with all her might. I feel as though the bones in my body will shatter. But her embrace is warm and loving. She sits up and positions me across her lap. Facing each other, we share a languorous kiss before I enter her moist vagina once again.

I bounce up and down on her lap. Our lips never come apart. Our eyes may be closed, but we are staring straight into each other’s souls. She wraps her strong legs around my backside and squeezes me possessively. I want her to own me. I want her to possess me. I want to be hers.

At last, we come together. We both cry out in pleasure. I empty myself inside her. She contracts wildly around my throbbing manhood. We breathe heavily. I collapse on top of her. She falls backwards and lets the cool sand infest her hair. We kiss with every ounce of energy we have left.

Eternal bliss.
Eternal bliss.

After a few moments – but what seemed like a blissful eternity – I remove my softened penis from her and hold her close. By now I look up at a nearby hill and see we’ve attracted a small crowd of audience members. At least a dozen fellow tourists, peering down at our public display of passion, watched in stunned silence. When they see me catching them in the act of shameless voyeurism, they flee as quickly as I noticed them. But I don’t mind. Kristina looks up too and discovers our lovemaking was not made in private.

“Hm. Let them watch, I say!” We snuggle close. The waves cease to crash against the shore and instead calmly brush up against the dry perimeter. After a lengthy kissing session, we pick up our clothes and walk back toward our resort house. It’s only a quarter of a mile away, but we take our merry time making the stroll. All good things in life shouldn’t be rushed. We are in absolutely no hurry.

The moon’s ominous glow portends what will come for us later that evening. I know for a fact Kristina and I will not sleep a wink tonight. Eagerly anticipating hours upon hours of endless carnal pleasure, I take a moment to reflect upon how genuinely lucky I am to be with Kristina at this moment. I’ve always known I was lucky, but I never knew until right now just how fortunate I am.

Truly, she can be with any man in the world. Why me?

Seriously. Why me?

Before the Heavens can provide me with an answer, Kristina picks me up with her mighty arms and carries me through the front door. It slams shut behind us unapologetically. What comes next is not fate, but destiny.

Queen Hippolyta – Unexpected Vulnerability (part two)

A statuesque Kristy Hawkins.
A statuesque Kristy Hawkins.

Traveling up the long spiral staircase at a hurried pace gave Akiyama a nauseous sense of motion sickness. After ascending up five stories, Queen Hippolyta, with her young captured prize wrapped in her arms, comes to a full stop and drops Akiyama to his feet.

They are inside her bed chamber. Ornamented with jewels, silk curtains, fine Persian rugs and the skulls of her vanquished enemies, Akiyama immediately understands who he is dealing with: a bloodthirsty and unapologetic narcissist who is supremely proud of her brutality. Her callous nature isn’t a flaw, but instead an admirable character trait. Akiyama could not imagine the unbearable pain her enemies must have experienced the moment before she claimed their lives.

“Here we are. You should consider yourself lucky. No man has ever entered my bed chamber before,” she remarks. Hippolyta walks to her hand-crafted vanity and looks at herself in the mirror, fixing her hair and removing an unwelcomed speck of dirt from her face. Akiyama can only stand frozen in place and watch her every movement with sheer curiosity.

“No man? I find that hard to believe. You can have any man you desire, my Queen,” Akiyama says. Hippolyta doesn’t look away from the mirror as she laughs at his impertinence.

“It has nothing to do with a man not wanting to enter my bed chamber. I hate men. I hate all men, especially those who are my enemies. You may not be my primary enemy, but you serve under him,” she says. “Nevertheless, you are a one-of-a-kind. A rare specimen, if I may say so.”

Akiyama shakes off his nervousness and explores the room. He touches an unusual looking lamp and realizes it’s made from the bones of a saber-toothed tiger. The young warrior has never encountered such a beast before, but he is confident that someone who has must be just as deadly, if not more so.

“Thank you, my Queen.”

Silence. In the more intimate setting, Akiyama is allowed a better look at Hippolyta’s magnificent body. Every square inch covered with muscle, she is more chiseled than most of the Amazonian warriors he’s encountered. This is further proof of her status as a Goddess among men. He cannot take his eyes off her no matter how hard he tries. He knows he cannot contain his lust for her for long.

“Let’s dispense with the frivolities of pointless conversation. We both know why you’re here. You are to please me all night long, till the sun rises in the morning. I desire your body. I desire for you to become a part of my body and please me till I am satisfied. You will not stop until I am fully satisfied. Is that clear, young boy?” The Queen removes her eight-inch stiletto heels and approaches Akiyama barefoot. Though removing her footwear does make her noticeably shorter, she is still one of the most physically intimidating human beings he’s ever witnessed.

“Clear as a spring morning. I understand fully what you want me to do this evening,” he responds.

“Good. Then let’s begin. Remove your clothes, fair youth.”

Hippolyta sits down on her bed, which is surrounded by angelic blue silk sheets on all four sides. Hanging from the tall ceiling, they look like a rushing river flowing from Heaven to her bed. She watches him with lustful intentions. Not one to stall or to waste valuable time, Akiyama removes his shirt and reveals the detailed condition of his battle wound. The Queen gasps audibly in reaction to seeing his broad chest and protruding abdomen muscles on full display. She feels wetness forming between her massive legs. The young warrior can sense her eyes studying his supple body.

A bedroom fit for a Queen.
A bedroom fit for a Queen.

Next, Akiyama drops his pants to the floor and brushes it aside with his left foot, revealing his small penis to her. The expression on Hippolyta’s face changes from intrigue to downright disappointment, as she was expecting a larger endowment from her young prisoner. However, he is not yet fully erect, so she will reserve judgement until later.

After removing his combat boots, Akiyama is fully naked. His wound, numerous bruises and the Queen’s menacing watchfulness make him feel more naked than he’s ever felt before. He is bare in ways beyond not wearing clothing. The tyrannical Queen holds all the power in this moment, while the young warrior holds absolutely none.

“Excellent. I am impressed with most of you, but not all of you,” she says, pointing to Akiyama’s tiny manhood. This is not the first time a woman has chided him for lacking girth, but he is confident he can satisfy her regardless of his size. There are countless beautiful girls in his village who can attest to that.

“Let’s see what you got, my Queen.”

Taking that as a playful challenge, Hippolyta chooses not to reprimand him for that disrespectful remark. Normally she would cut the throat of any man who attempts to give her an order, but she knows this is neither the time nor the place for that type of inhumane behavior.

“I shall, young prisoner.”

Hippolyta stands up from the bed and unhooks the necklace from her neck. She lays it down on the vanity inside a small wooden box. Akiyama takes a small step backward. The Queen then unties her scarlet red night robe and drops it to the floor carelessly, revealing her beautiful nude body. Demonstrating an air of confidence that Akiyama could never equal no matter how hard he tried, Queen Hippolyta is as striking and visually arresting as any woman he’s ever seen. With long taut nipples, full breasts, a six-pack abdomen even more impressive than his, and…

My God. Oh my stars. It can’t be…she can’t possibly have…is that…?

Akiyama’s breathing stops. He refuses to believe what his eyes are seeing. That cannot be what he thinks it is…

Sure enough, she does have exactly what Akiyama is seeing with his own two eyes. Queen Hippolyta has, much to his utter shock, an enormous seven inch long clitoris that defiantly hangs between her thighs. Akiyama has seen his share of female parts before, but nothing like this. Indeed, her clitoris has everything a normal clitoris has: a shaft, hood, protruding head, and labia around it. But her shaft is long. Longer than Akiyama ever thought was possible. Impossibly long.

The Queen knows what her young prisoner is staring at, and is blissfully enjoying every moment of it.

Without question, he is embarrassed that her feminine endowment is much larger than his male endowment. He initially thinks to ask her whether her clitoris is actually a penis, but he decides against it. There’s no need to superfluously anger her for whatever reason.

“I know what you’re looking at, Akiyama. Don’t worry. I’m all woman.”

Perhaps it was something in the way she said his name, but hearing the Queen assure him she’s “all woman” triggers in Akiyama a faint memory from childhood. Her maternal voice sounds soothing and comforting, despite her gravelly cadence. He couldn’t put his finger on what this means, but he knows it’s significant.

Sheila Bleck. There are no words.
Sheila Bleck. There are no words.

The pounding of the rain against the ceiling permeates throughout the room. Not wanting to waste a single moment, Hippolyta approaches Akiyama and kisses him deeply, sticking her tongue as far as she can inside Akiyama’s mouth. He gags at her intrusive penetration. Her hands explore his backside, stroking up and down his muscled back. Akiyama returns the favor and wraps his arms around the Queen’s torso, feeling her solid core. When her massive clitoris pokes him in the belly, Akiyama nearly groans in pain. He wonders how she can possibly be so hard down there.

The Queen, done with this dull foreplay, picks up Akiyama like a dog and throws him onto the bed. Akiyama lands on his back and hits his head against one of her many soft feather pillows. Hippolyta pulls back one of the silk sheets and enters the bed area. She leans over and kisses the tip of Akiyama’s erect penis, causing him to moan out loud. Hippolyta fondles his scrotum and tickles the shaft of his manhood. Akiyama holds his breath and closes his eyes tightly to prevent him from coming too soon.

Without warning, Hippolyta lowers herself over Akiyama’s body and envelopes her moist vagina around his penis. Her tender feminine flesh welcomes his hardened masculine flesh. The two muscular warriors cry out at the exact moment of their intimate joining. She begins to ride him with a languorous rhythm, not wanting to rush this moment. Akiyama opens his eyes and locks on to the Queen’s strong body. Her broad shoulders. Rock hard thighs. Enormous arms that greedily take up a lot of room. A wide back with visible mounds of muscle packed throughout every square inch. Calves that could crush stone. Rigid calluses covering all her fingers and the palms of her hands. And, of course, a seven inch long clitoris that Akiyama still cannot believe actually exists.

Every intimate part of Hippolyta’s body is a product of divine inspiration. The gods above could not craft a more perfect looking human being. She may be mortal flesh and blood, but Akiyama would completely accept the notion that she’s not of this physical Earth. She is that remarkable.

The Queen quickens her pace. With every thrust of her pelvis, Akiyama feels himself closer and closer to climax. She tightens her vagina around him so that she could squeeze as much pleasure out of her prisoner as possible. Her sudden tightness steals his breath away. Hippolyta senses her own impending orgasm, but wishes to prolong their lovemaking even longer. She slows down her pace and selfishly explores his chiseled body with her firm hands. Loving every inch of him, she confesses silently to herself that she never expected sex would be this good with a man. Hippolyta has only made love to women in her life, and had little confidence this mortal man would measure up to her high erotic standards.

Akiyama lets out a deep breath as Hippolyta propels her hips backward, so that the tip of his penis is poised at her sensitive entrance. They lock eyes one last time. Akiyama wants to speak and break the silence, but Hippolyta refuses to let him ruin this perfect moment and thrusts onto his manhood one last time. This final move of their sensual dance sends both of them over the edge. Akiyama climaxes hard and spills his seed into her. Hippolyta’s vaginal walls contract wildly around him, taking in his seed with greedy recklessness. She screams at the top of her lungs, looking up at the Heavens for approval. She doesn’t know if any of the gods above are watching them, but she is certain they are commending them for their masterful erotic performance.

Exhausted, Hippolyta collapses on top of Akiyama and they share one more intimate kiss before they both fall asleep to a peaceful slumber.

An hour later, Akiyama wakes up to an unexpectedly warm glow flooding the room. He sits up and sees the Queen applying wooden logs to a fireplace. He did not notice there was a fireplace in her bed chamber, but sure enough there is in the south corner.

Stoking the flames with more pieces of chopped wood, she turns around when she hears Akiyama get up from her bed. She smiles at her prisoner, pleased with his performance from earlier in the evening.

“I am pleasantly surprised, young prisoner. You are a skilled lover.” The rain has stopped and continues only at a subtle drizzle.

A full body shot of Asha Hadley. You're welcome.
A full body shot of Asha Hadley. You’re welcome.

“Thank you, my Queen. But it was mostly you who led our previous lovemaking. I hardly played a part in it.” Akiyama hugs the Queen from behind and feels her firm buttocks. He laughs when she teasingly bounces her glute muscles up and down.

“Nonsense. Sex is a dance. And one cannot dance without a partner, am I right?”

“You are correct, my Queen. Indeed, you are.”

Picking up a metal poker, Hippolyta jabs at the fire to separate two logs that had stuck together. She loves the feel of the fire’s heat blanketing her naked skin. It’s not too often that Hippolyta, as the supreme leader of the Amazons, can enjoy such a peaceful and joyous moment alone with a lover. Someone in her position of power must consistently instill fear into her underlings no matter what. Her mother always taught her it is better to be feared than loved. It is this philosophy that guides her leadership style. She will not hesitate to execute a subordinate who shows no fear toward her, even if that poor soul is valuable to the Empire. More often than not, Hippolyta would be the one who takes out her sword and beheads the unfortunate inferior.

“May I ask you a question, young boy?”

“Yes, of course you can, my Queen. Ask me anything you desire.”

Her eyes remain fixated on the fire’s poetic flames. “Do you fear me?”

Akiyama, who had been kissing up and down her broad back, stops perusing her body and thinks about her question. How should he answer? Will his response prompt her to execute him on the spot without any chance of defending himself?

“I do not fear you, my Queen.”

Hippolyta’s focus on the flames abruptly ends and she turns toward him, tears welling up in her eyes. She weeps uncontrollably. She cannot stop it. It comes like an unstoppable flood.

“You…don’t? Why not? Everyone in the Kingdom, including your General Ijiri, whom I consider to be a brave man, fears me. Everyone. Every single soul knows my name and trembles when they hear it spoken aloud. Is this not true?” Akiyama traces Hippolyta’s sharp jawline and feels a stream of hot tears rolling down her gorgeous face.

“This is true. Your name’s weight is enough to bring down the Walls of Jericho. You are notorious among every man, woman, and child in the Kingdom.” He is telling the truth, no matter what the consequences may be. Akiyama knows he will eventually be killed, so what does he have to fear?

“But you are not afraid of me. Why is that? Answer me!”

Akiyama takes a deep breath and chooses not to think about his response ahead of time. He will trust his keen instincts, which have served him well in the past. Perhaps it will serve him equally well in this moment.

A warm fireplace.
A warm fireplace.

“I am not afraid of you because I do not fear death. To me, death is closely intertwined with life. As a warrior, who has sworn on the graves of his departed relatives to defend the clan to the death, I am accustomed to contemplating matters of eternity. I have chosen not to fear it. Instead, I’ve chosen to embrace it. Why worry about something that’s inevitable?”

“That would be a waste of your time.”

“Exactly. So you understand where I’m coming from. I do not fear death, I do not fear pain, therefore I do not fear you. I respect you, but that is not the same thing as being fearful of you. Because I accept death as a part of life, what reason do I have to fear you, my Queen?”

Queen Hippolyta takes several moments to let Akiyama’s brave words digest. Her weeping subsides. He is intelligent, that’s for sure. He is also bold. Not careless, but he does not live any part of his live with modesty. These qualities explain why Akiyama is such an accomplished warrior and highly respected among the elders of the Nakatomi clan.

“My god. You are not who I thought you would be, young boy.”

“Really? What did you expect, my Queen?”

“I was expecting a scared youngster who wouldn’t be a man enough to face me like this and be so honest.”

Akiyama courageously lands a profound kiss onto Hippolyta’s sweet lips. Her weeping returns. She lets the tears freely flow down her face without attempting to hide them, a showcase of vulnerability that surprises even her. What is it in this young boy that causes her to become so emotionally frail?

“Trust me, my Queen. I am all man.”

After speaking these words, Akiyama kneels down and takes her engorged clitoris into his hand. He strokes it up and down, playing with its full length. He still cannot believe the length and thickness of her intimate piece of flesh, yet her femininity goes unquestioned.

The Queen braces herself in front of the fire. A black metallic screen blocks her body from the flame’s oppressive bite. She closes her eyes and indulges in Akiyama’s intimate touching of her body. The young warrior takes her sensitive flesh into his mouth and laps the tip of her clitoris with his tongue. He continues to stroke her clitoral shaft, this time with both hands. Every caress builds her up toward another orgasmic climax. He wants to satisfy her, no matter what it takes.

“Oh, yes. Yes, young lover. Ohhh, yes…mmmmmm, yesssssss………….”

Sucking the broad head of her clitoris with the full force of his mouth, Akiyama gives her impossibly long and hard feminine shaft one last forceful squeeze. She climaxes and squirts a small amount of murky white fluid out of her vagina. It falls into the fireplace and immediately steams up once it lands onto the raging flames.

Akiyama sticks a finger inside her vagina and feels her walls contracting wildly. Hippolyta spreads her legs out wide and bellows another throaty scream to the Heavens. The prisoner smiles when she sees the expression on her face; a perfect combination of satisfaction and prolonging hunger.

Her hunger is apparent, as she picks up Akiyama once more into her strong arms and escorts him back to her bed. Akiyama’s penis hardens again as he anticipates a second coupling.

“You are a man, Akiyama. You are nothing but a man. But do one thing for me, young lover.”

“What, my Queen?”

“Show me how much of a man you are.” She smirks, kisses him again, drops him onto the bed, and prepares to ravage the young boy once more.

To be continued.

805

Amy Neal showing definitely has the legs to showcase those boots.
Amy Neal showing definitely has the legs to showcase those boots.

They couldn’t wait.

Not after all this agonizing anticipation. Not after the hours they’ve spent silently looking at each other, trying to hide their lust-filled glances from preening eyes.

Not anymore. There’s no holding back. It’s now or never.

The tension between them couldn’t be stronger. It’s at a tipping point. The raw energy surging through them is going to explode at any moment. They need release. They need to shatter the invisible wall separating them. They need each other.

Desperately.

For the past 72 hours, they’ve been dancing a seductive tango without a single word being spoken. She’s a world class professional bodybuilder. He’s a rising amateur photographer. They come from two completely different worlds, but this sensual dance feels as natural and seamless as Fred and Ginger.

It’s the final day of the big competition. The entire weekend has been one long blur for both of them. But now it’s quickly coming to an end. Her exhibition came to an end yesterday. She got screwed by the judges again by placing 3rd when she (and her competition) fully expected her to win it all. Fucking politics. Placing 2nd last year was a travesty. Placing 3rd this year is more like a cruel joke.

Fuck the world. Fuck these pathetic judges who wouldn’t know excellence if it tied them up in a dark alley and fucked them up the ass.

But all that is behind her now. All that matters is getting what she wants. She really needs a guy right now. After spending months upon months training for this competition, she realizes she hasn’t had sex in at least half a year. Fuck. Has it really been that long?

Meeting guys isn’t the hard part. Meeting guys who aren’t complete assholes is a completely different story. She’s met her fair share of pricks (working in the bodybuilding industry can do that to you), but hardly any gentlemen. She hopes he’s different.

He, on the other hand, also hasn’t been with anyone in a while. He’s too embarrassed to think of when. All he knows is that from the moment he locked eyes with her, he knew she was special. He’s met plenty of female bodybuilders and athletes before, but she has an aura around her that made her…unique. He couldn’t explain why. He just knew she was.

She sparkled for the camera. Her smile feels genuine. There’s real warmth to her personality. She’s not fake. She’s not putting on an act. She is who she really is. And that attracts him to her the most.

Camera in hand, he’s already taken more photos than he knows what to do with. At least 500. Maybe 600. God, editing all these photos is going to be a fucking nightmare. But none of that is important to him right now. At this moment, he needs to be with her.

In the grand lobby of the convention center, there is a sea of humanity sprawled all over. People of all sorts. Bodybuilders, spectators, journalists, photographers, vendors, security guards, and maybe even a few celebrities. He’s supposed to photograph all the events (especially the final event), but he’d rather brush it off if it means he could be with her. He frantically looks around for her.

She’s also frantically looking around for him. After the final event, everyone goes their separate ways. This could be her last chance to connect with him. All the flirting, all the loving stares, all the sexual tension between them could be for naught.

Finally, a familiar figure crosses her path. It’s him! Wearing his camera around his neck, he looks as hungry and fierce as her. Wearing sweat pants, an old t-shirt, and no makeup whatsoever, she doesn’t look particularly sexy, but he doesn’t mind. In his opinion, she always looks dazzling. She approaches him and forces him to stop dead in his tracks. His heart stops. Her hearts beats faster. She leans in and whispers this simple message into his ear:

“805.”

Then she walks away. He knows exactly what that means. Room 805. Her room. Her hotel is across the street from the convention center. He knows that for a fact. It is time to meet her there. He snaps a few more photos, knowing she would want a few moments to herself before accepting visitors to her room.

The male and female bodybuilders covered in orange tan spray nearly make him puke. Seeing the annoying wannabe bodybuilders line up at the vendor booths looking for the perfect supplement that will give them the most “gains” also makes him sick to his stomach. He usually hates covering these events, but meeting her changed all of that for the better.

A nice looking hotel room.
A nice looking hotel room.

Meanwhile, back at her room, she quickly disrobes and takes a short shower. She loves the feeling of the hot water cascading off her hard, muscle-bound body. She turns the water off, pats herself dry, and puts on a lily white bathrobe. She then remembers to brush her teeth. Since yesterday’s monstrosity, she’s finally been able to splurge on the foods she’s had to refrain from for the past six months. That pulled pork taco she had for lunch today nearly gave her an orgasm. For real.

She sits on a comfortable beige sofa and waits. Waiting to be ravished. Waiting to be touched. Waiting to be made love to. Waiting for him.

Moments pass. Minutes pass. She becomes impatient. Where the hell is he?

He’s trudging through the rain to get across the street. A damn taxi driver nearly runs him over. Fucking asshole. Can’t he see he’s trying to cross the street?

He enters the hotel and immediately walks toward the elevator. He pushes “up.” He waits. The doors open. He gets inside. He presses “8.” The doors close. The elevator begins its ascension. He takes a deep breath and exhales slowly. Finally, the doors open. He exits the elevator. He passes an attractive couple making out in the hallway. He pays no attention to them. A cleaning maid walks by. A loose toddler waddles underneath a chestnut table. He pays no attention to them either.

After taking a sharp right turn, he finds her room. 805. He closes his eyes and visualizes what she must look like naked. He’s sure reality would far surpass his imagination. Determined to find out, he knocks on the door. Time passes. His palms get sweaty. He holds his breath in anticipation of the door opening.

She gets up. She remembers to tie her bathrobe. She starts to notice her palms get sweaty. She hopes he isn’t as much of a nervous wreck as her.

She opens the door. She looks at him. He looks back at her. Beat. Finally, she welcomes him inside and she briskly closes the door to avoid prying eyes from peeking into their impromptu rendezvous. Rumors start when eyes spy in places they shouldn’t. She wants to make sure that doesn’t happen. She wants to cut that shit in the bud.

There is dead silence between them. Which is fitting, considering they’ve never actually carried on a conversation together. The time for talk is later. Now is the time for something else. Something way more intimate.

First, he places his camera (sporting an impressive telephoto lens) on top of a mahogany credenza. His shoes come off shortly afterward. Then his jacket. Then he stops. He turns to face her. She studies his face, hopelessly trying to guess what’s on his mind. She gives up and instead waits for him to make the first move.

He does.

He goes to her. She throws her thick arms around him. Her embrace is so tight he’s afraid his ribcage will crack. They kiss. Wet, sloppy, and unrefined. Just the way they prefer it. She reaches down and unzips his pants. His erection strains against his underwear. He makes no effort to prevent her from stripping him naked. Within seconds he’s stark naked. His hardness stands at attention. She gently pushes him onto the bed and he falls backward. She stands back and strikes a half dozen bodybuilding poses for him. He applauds at every one of them.

He recognizes excellence when he sees it. Unlike those fucking scumbag judges. She notices his appreciation and takes it to heart.

Enough with the foreplay. Now is the time for intimacy. She unties her bathrobe and lets it fall to the floor. It pools around her ankles. Her muscular naked body glistens in the dim yellow light of her hotel room. His eyes try to take in every square inch of her immaculate body. He knows he will have plenty of time to enjoy her unrivaled physique all to himself.

She jumps on him like a lion attacking its prey. Her massive body entirely covers him, enveloping him. He feels the tip of his penis rubbing against her six-pack abs. They playfully wrestle for a few minutes. Tongues explore each other’s faces. She sucks on his bottom lip while he licks the tip of her nose. He strokes her swollen clit. Holy fuck. Her clit is fucking huge. He then feels her sheer wetness. Dripping. Gushing. Juices flowing. She’s ready for him.

Who wouldn't want to spend an hour or two in a hotel room with Nicole Berg?
Who wouldn’t want to spend an hour or two in a hotel room with Nicole Berg?

They share a momentary gaze. There’s a mutual understanding between them. Should they use protection? She does have a box of condoms in her suitcase, but she trusts him. And he trusts her. They decide to forego it and make love without any barriers.

On his back, he moves his legs together so she can properly straddle him. She starts off on her knees and gradually lowers herself onto his erect manhood. He completely enters her. His scrotum rests snugly against the base of her pelvis. She rocks back and forth gently at first but eventually quickens her pace. She closes her eyes, wanting to drink in every sensual moment of their coupling. He plays with her small breasts, pinching her nipples and caressing her protruding abdominal muscles. She kisses him and breathes deeply. Her hot breath streams across his neck, making the hairs on the back of his head stiffen.

Their eyes meet. He looks at her beautiful face. She looks at his handsome face. They were meant to be together, like this, making love like old lovers, even though they hardly know each other. Each stroke they share, every kiss, every orgasmic buildup brings them closer and closer together to a level that’s so familiar it frightens them.

He’s close. She’s closer. She hasn’t been made love to like this in a while. The same goes for him. They need this release more than they’ve ever needed it before.

One hard pinch of her nipples sends her over the edge. Her vaginal muscles contract around him. She squeezes her beastly thighs around his waist, making him come. He throws his head back and empties himself inside her. She tries to suppress a scream but lets it out anyway – perhaps disturbing their neighbors. She collapses on top of him and feels his chest breathing deeply. They remain like that for a long time.

They choose not to speak a word to each other. Not because they don’t want to talk, but because their form of communication doesn’t need words. There exists an intuitive connection that makes spoken words irrelevant. Nobody can speak this language but them and them alone.

He massages her endless mounds of back muscles. She caresses his softened penis and fondles his scrotum. Their eyes never break focus.

Once the glow of their lovemaking began to wear off, she gets up, takes out a bottle of chilled champagne from a small refrigerator, and pops the cork open with her bare fingers. Then she grabs two plastic cups from the bathroom and pours a frosty glass for both him and her. They drink, talk about a wide range of topics, engage in friendly debate, drink some more, kiss, switch topics to something else entirely different, drink some more, and kiss some more.

Finally, they come to the end of the bottle. Both a little drunk, they decide to make love for the second time. This time, he’s on top. The animalistic passion of their previous coupling was gone for something more subdued. He takes it slow and feels no need to rush. She enjoys every moment of it. They came together from one gloriously shared orgasm. He moans. She gasps. They lay limp in each other’s arms. They decide to turn off the lights and fall asleep.

A bottle of champagne being uncorked.
A bottle of champagne being uncorked.

A little less than an hour later, he unexpectedly awakens to a pleasant surprise. He looks down and sees her gently sucking on his little penis, trying to make it grow to her liking. It does. Now hardened, she grabs his hand and escorts him outside. She opens a large glass door and takes him onto a small balcony overlooking the entire city.

Still naked, they look out at the blackened night sky and watch traffic still crawling by even this late at night. He glances back inside at a wall clock and sees it’s nearing 11 p.m.

Boldly, she wraps her strong arms around him and kisses him fervently. Then they decide to make love for the third time. Knowing at any moment someone could catch them in the act of doing it al fresco made it seem naughtier and riskier. One of their next-door neighbors could easily slip outside and watch them make love!

None of that matters. She grabs onto the balcony’s metal railing and spreads her legs wide. She bends over and invites him to take her from behind. At first he enters her vagina, but she quickly indicates she wants him to enter her in a different way. He takes the hint by licking his index finger and sticking it inside her anus. After properly moistening her tight cavity, he swiftly inserts his hardness inside her. She welcomes his penetration and reaches down to masturbate her strikingly large clitoris.

Her clit, unnaturally enlarged by years of hormone injections, is a signature part of her body that only her most loyal fans know about. He is now privileged to come in very close contact with this legendary feminine appendage.

He pumps into her leisurely at first so he could get used to her tremendous tightness. As he began to get more comfortable inside her, he pumps harder and harder until he starts to get into a rhythm. She continues to masturbate herself and bellows out loud cries of pleasure for the whole city to hear. She doesn’t care if the while city does in fact hear her. On the contrary, she wants everybody to hear her throaty screams of passion!

Soon, he pumps into her for a final time and climaxes. He fills her anus with six powerful squirts of his warm semen and kisses the back of her neck. She eventually climaxes herself from her own self-pleasuring. She tilts her head upward and feels the cool evening breeze cloak her naked skin. Her taut muscles defiantly remain rigid in the cold wind.

When she feels his penis soften, she turns around and hugs him firmly, refusing to let go. She needs this so badly it almost makes her want to cry. But her inner strength, which is just about as formidable as her physical strength, refuses to allow her to do such a thing. He greedily feels her beautiful muscular body while locking on to her gorgeous eyes. Her bulging arms, rounded shoulders, broad chest, tree trunk thighs, wide back, six-pack abs, sharp nipples, curvy butt – everything about her arouses him. She’s a piece of art.

They stay wrapped up in each other’s arms for a long time.

Soon it became too cold to stay outside. They promptly return back inside and slid the balcony door shut. Did anybody see them in action? There’s no way either of them would ever know.

Shortly after midnight they take a brief shower together. He enjoys every opportunity to soap up her bulky muscles! Now fresh and clean, they dry off and head back to bed.

There might not be an ounce of energy left in their bodies, but their souls are as vibrant as ever. He cuddles up next to her and lightly strokes her still wet hair. She giggles. Her low rumbling voice shakes the entire room. He then reaches over and turns off the bedside lamp. In total darkness, they prepare to make love for the fourth time that night. Though his body feels like mush, he knows this may be the first and last encounter they will share together. She feels the same way. They must soak up this entire experience as much as they possibly can.

Just the kind of balcony these two nameless characters would be making love from.
Just the kind of balcony these two nameless characters would be making love from.

And so they began their sensual dance once again. She mounts him and takes him in at a deliberate pace. There’s no hurry to get to sleep. Morning will come, like it always does. This moment of shared pleasure and love may never be rekindled. This is their time. They must do with it what they can before it’s too late.

By now, he feels so right inside her. He feels right at home. It’s like they were always meant to make love to each other, as if some unseen and all-knowing cosmic force drove them together to this humble hotel room, number 805. Neither one of them ever give much thought to the Divine, but now is as good as ever a time to do so.

Perhaps an hour passes; perhaps it was only a few minutes. But eventually she and he climax together – for the fourth time – and it is without a doubt the most beautiful climax of the night. Pure, unadulterated, right. So right. So real. So needed.

He falls asleep instantly. She follows soon after. And then they sleep. Whatever happens in the morning is out of their control. To hell with what happens next. Next can wait. Morning can wait. The future can wait.

What happens now cannot wait.

Bridgette – A Stranger in the Night (part one)

When you think of Bridgette, think about Kris Murrell.
When you think of Bridgette, think about Kris Murrell.

“Excuse me, can I ask you something?”

Sean turns around to see where that voice came from. When he does, his jaw nearly drops.

“Um, pardon me? Are you talking to me?” Sean asks.

On this chilly late November evening, Sean had no intention of being bothered by anyone. Thanksgiving is in two days and he still hasn’t bought the ingredients necessary to make the pecan pie his mother told him to make. Sean’s a big boy, but mommy’s guilt-inducing passive aggressive behavior still cuts deep into his soul.

Sean’s business on this evening was simple. Go to the store and buy what he needs to make this pie. Little did he expect to be accosted by a complete stranger during the short 10-minute walk to his neighborhood market. And especially by this kind of a stranger.

“Yes, I’m talking to you, silly! Who else would I be speaking to?” She looks around and points out that there is absolutely no one else on the sidewalk at this time of night.

This woman, who looks to be anywhere between 30 and 35, is wearing a long wolf grey fur coat that covers her entire figure. With a bright red wool beanie on her head, a lock of blonde hair rests along her left cheek. Her pretty face looks harder around the edges than most women Sean has ever seen. She has a raspy voice that’s husky but unquestionably feminine at the same time.

“You’re right. You wouldn’t be talking to anyone. So, what’s your question?” Sean says.

The woman approaches Sean. He subtly backs away – not out of fear, but out of instinct. He can’t quite put his finger on it, but there was something very intimidating about her. She’s nearly his height and doesn’t appear to be hostile, but she gave off an aura of…intimidation.

“It’s a very unorthodox question, but I must preface it with this: You know what’s happening this Thursday, right?”

Sean blinks.

“Uh, yes. This Thursday is Thanksgiving. Is that what you’re referring to?”

“Yes, that’s exactly what I’m referring to. Thanksgiving is, of course, a day for giving thanks, wouldn’t you agree?” A creepy smile flashes across her beautiful face. Can he trust her?

“Thanksgiving is indeed a day of giving thanks, yes,” Sean replies.

“Good. Recently, I decided I wanted to experiment with something. I want to do a favor for you. I want to give you a reason to say “thanks” when this day is over. I want to do something nice for you, even though we’ve never met and you have no reason to trust me,” she says.

A lonely street on a quiet evening.
A lonely street on a quiet evening.

No reason to trust her? She’s got that right! Who the hell is she–

“What’s your name?” she asks.

“Sean. Sean Kimura. What’s your name, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“I don’t mind at all. My name is Bridgette. Pleased to meet you.” She extends her hand and Sean shakes it. Her firm grip surprises him. Wow! She’s strong! Sean has never met a woman with such a powerful handshake.

“Likewise, Bridgette. It’s chilly out here, so I don’t want to be standing outside for long. What’s the favor you want to do for me?”

“The favor I want to do for you can be summarized in the question I’d like to ask you.”

Amused by her stalling tactics, Sean grins back. While it is chilly outside, it’s not as unbearably cold as he suggested. He just wants to see where this unusual conversation is going.

“Ask me the question. If you take any longer, this day may end without me saying “thanks” to you,” Sean jokes. Bridgette chuckles.

“Alright. Will you have sex with me?”

Sean nearly falls over on the sidewalk. Luckily for him, he successfully keeps his balance.

“Uh, excuse me? Did I hear you correctly?”

“Yes, you heard that as clearly as you could possibly hear it. It’s a simple question. Will you have sex with me?”

Sean is silent. Bridgette senses his astonishment and decides to take the lead in this exchange.

“Look, I understand this probably sounds like a joke. But it’s not a joke. I want to have sex with someone tonight. A complete stranger. No strings attached. We don’t have to exchange phone numbers. In fact, we didn’t even have to exchange names. Just a simple roll in the hay. Nothing more, nothing less. It’s as simple as it sounds.” A sudden gust of wind roars by and sweeps the lock of hair across her nose. Watching Bridgette twitch her nose somewhat turns him on.

“Who are you? A philanthropic prostitute?”

Bridgette laughs. Then she suddenly stops and grabs Sean by the shoulders. Demonstrating her strength, Sean is pulled against her and he is helpless to escape her grasp.

That pecan pie sure looks delicious!
That pecan pie sure looks delicious!

“Nice use of alliteration. But I’m not a whore. If you call me a whore again, I swear I’ll kick the living shit out of you, understand?” Sean nods in agreement. Sensing his fear, Bridgette releases him and he almost falls backward.

“I’m…uh, sorry…”

“Don’t apologize, kid. Just listen to me. Here’s the catch. Do you see that dark blue van parked across the street there?” She points to a dark blue van that is indeed parked across the street. Sean nods.

“Good. Inside that van is a small camera crew. Just three people. A camera operator, a sound guy and a lighting girl. The four of us aren’t from around here. We just flew in from L.A. earlier this morning. You want to know what industry we belong to?”

Sean’s head is spinning at a million miles per hour. Did he just walk into an “Inception” style dream?

“No, I have no clue what industry you belong to. What?”

“We work in the porn industry. I’m new to the field, but for the time being, I’m a pornographic actress. Before that I was a professional athlete. But you can only compete in that dog-eat-dog world for so long before you want to blow your brains out. So now I’m doing this.”

Check that. This isn’t “Inception.” This is more like “The Twilight Zone!”

“The concept of our next film project is simple. I go up to a random stranger in the middle of a quiet suburban neighborhood and ask him to have sex with me. You say “yes” and we then return back to our condo where we have sex on camera. Do you see this?” Bridgette points to a lapel microphone attached to her coat. The black mic blended in with her grey fur coat, so Sean didn’t notice it until now.

“This entire conversation has been recorded. In fact, our every movement has been recorded, isn’t that right, Jimmy?” She points to a hedge across the street near the van. A hand pokes out and waves to them. Sean is completely speechless. What the fuck is this all about?

“Jimmy is our cameraman. He’s been in the business for years. To make a long story short, all you have to do is sign a waiver and come with us to the condo we’re renting for the week. We do the deed and we’ll post the video on our website just in time for Thanksgiving dinner. And don’t worry. We’ll blur out your face and even mute your voice so no one will recognize that it’s you. You wouldn’t want your friends and family to know that you’ve starred in a porno, right?”

“No, that wouldn’t be something I’d like them to know about.” Whoa.

“So…what do you say? Are you in?”

Sean looks at the van and the bushes where Jimmy is staked out behind his camera. He looks back at Bridgette and sizes her up. Her big frame suggests she’s either really fat (with a remarkably skinny face) or her fur coat is tremendous in thickness. She’s probably great in bed if she’s a professional porn star. Hm. Why the hell not?

“Yes. Why the hell not? Count me in!” Sean has never been one to take risks, but after being unexpectedly dumped by his long-time girlfriend earlier this year (on Valentine’s Day, if you can believe that!), Sean is definitely in the mood to “rebel” and be a bad boy for once in his life. Enough Mr. Nice Guy. It’s time to be a bad motherfucker.

“Great! Come with us.” Bridgette turns around and leads Sean toward the van. Jimmy gets up out of his crouched position and follows them to the van carrying a large camera over his shoulder. These people are in the porn industry! Holy fuck!

Bridgette opens the van’s side door and ushers Sean inside. The driver, an overweight middle-aged balding man wearing a tacky Hawaiian shirt, shakes his hand as he sits down.

“Hello. I’m Tony. I’m the sound guy.”

“Pleased to meet you, Tony. My name is Sean.” Jimmy the cameraman opens the back door and enters. Bridgette closes the door once she settles in.

“And my name is Lexie. I’m the lighting and makeup girl.” Sean looks at Lexie and sees a short and petite black girl who looks like she could still be in high school. He shakes her hand.

“Great. Now that you know everyone, let’s roll,” Bridgette orders. Tony immediately starts up the engine and drives off into the cold dark night. Sean’s fear subsides for now. These people seem very friendly…at least thus far. Once the camera starts to roll for real, who knows what this evening is going to be like?

A beautiful grey fur coat.
A beautiful grey fur coat.

The drive to the condo doesn’t take long. It’s in a swanky part of town that Sean rarely visits. Overseeing the ocean, the condo complex is on top of a hill and looks to be well out of his price range. Sean would go completely broke just living here for a single week!

Bridgette tells him the condo is owned by an ultra-wealthy porn enthusiast who’s out of town for the week. They got this place for free (which is why they chose to film this porno out here instead of down in L.A.) and had unlimited freedom to decorate it ask they’d like. Tony parks the van in the vast parking lot and the five of them get out. Sean marvels at the palatial building that definitely is out of his price range.

They step inside and see a middle-aged woman smoking a cigarette.

“This is Maggie, our producer. She has the form you need to sign,” Bridgette explains as she takes off her shoes. Tony, Jimmy and Lexie disappear inside the condo. Sean is in a daze and still cannot believe what’s happening to him. Maggie shoves a piece of paper in his face.

“Read over it and sign it. Then go upstairs for further instructions,” Maggie coldly instructs.

“Okay, yes ma’am,” Sean replies.

Maggie smirks and continues to smoke her cigarette. Sean tries to hold back a cough. He briefly skims it and silently nods in agreement.

“Everything look good? Great. Sign it.” Maggie hands him a fountain pen and he scribbles his signature on the dotted line. Maggie takes the waiver and disappears into an adjacent room. Bridgette grabs Sean’s hand and escorts him upstairs.

The walk up the long twisted staircase leaves Sean out of breath. Bridgette, on the other hand, hardly breaks a sweat. She takes him to a dressing room on the second (or is it the third or fourth?) floor. The room is filled with mirrors, light bulbs, makeup equipment, hangers, costumes, cans of hairspray and enough foundation to last a Victoria’s Secret photographer for a lifetime. She sits down on a stool and begins to reapply her eyeliner. Sean just stands there, amazed that he’s actually doing this. One moment he’s going out to buy stuff for pecan pie, the next he’s on the verge of becoming an impromptu porn star.

“Are you getting nervous?” Bridgette asks. Methodically putting on her eyeliner, Sean notices she hasn’t taken off her enormous fur coat yet. The room is unbearably hot with all the light bulbs flashing at maximum brightness. What’s her deal?

“No, I’m not nervous. Things are happening way too fast for me to become nervous. I’m more…excited,” Sean begins. “That might not be the right word. This is very surreal.”

She turns to him and smiles. Bridgette crosses her legs and bounces her dark brown furry boot up and down. Sean takes note of how large her calves are. Holy hell! Is that fat or…muscle?

“Of course this is surreal. I don’t blame you for being a little disjointed. If I were you, I’d probably freak out and run as far away from here as possible. Are you ready?” She stands up and looks at Sean eye-to-eye. He blinks twice. She chuckles.

“Uh, sure. I’m ready. Better now than never, right?”

Bridgette slaps him hard on the shoulder. The blunt force of her playful jab almost makes him tumble backward.

“Damn right! Let’s get started. My crew is usually really fast at setting up. They’re all pros. You look great. You’re a handsome boy, Sean,” she says. Sean blushes. It’s not too often that a non-Asian woman calls him “handsome.” That sort of compliment is usually reserved for the Asian girls he dates. But even among them, those kinds of comments are far and few between.

Bridgette grabs his hand and once again leads him to another room. They leave the dressing room, walk down a ridiculously long hallway, make a sharp left turn and enter a new room. The bedroom. Holy shit! This bedroom is bigger than Sean’s entire apartment! The rich sure do know how to live…

Brenda Smith has a gorgeous set of calves.
Brenda Smith has a gorgeous set of calves.

A queen sized bed sits at the end of an arched 180 degree window overlooking the seaside. Fancy curtains, tapestries, artworks and custom-made furniture adorn the room.

Sean’s eyes open wide at the sheer audacity of the bedroom. He sees Tony, Jimmy and Lexie hard at work setting up the scene. Maggie comes in and speaks to Bridgette about something. He couldn’t quite hear what they were saying. After a few moments, Jimmy announces they’re ready to begin shooting.

“Sound is ready to go,” Tony announces.

“Ditto with the lights. I’m good,” Lexie responds.

“Great! Let’s get this thing started. The great thing about reality-based pornography is that no rehearsal is necessary. Just go with the flow and follow my lead, got it?” Bridgette asks Sean. Sean can only smile and nod. Is there any other appropriate response?

Tony puts on his headset. Maggie and Lexie stand back and watch. Jimmy is behind his camera, which is now mounted on top of a tripod, and gives the “thumbs up” sign. Bridgette’s team is ready to rock and roll.

Lights. Camera. Action.

Worship Me

Isabelle Turell demands to be worshiped.
Isabelle Turell demands to be worshiped.

Sweat drips off his face. On his knees, he looks up and can barely believe what his eyes are seeing. There she is, in all her immaculate glory. There she is, as perfect as he’d imagine her.

“May I…touch?” he asks.

She takes one step forward toward him. She extends her right arm and flexes her 18 inch bicep for him. He stops breathing, mesmerized by this powerfully erotic demonstration of strength. Her enormous muscles captivate him. He is a slave to her muscles. Strong as an ox, she extends her left arm and flexes her other 18 inch bicep. A smile creeps across her gorgeous face.

“Yes, dear. Touch to your heart’s delight,” she says.

He takes a deep breath and lightly brushes his fingers against her right bicep. Rock hard. Solid. Veiny. As big as a grapefruit. He feels her coarse skin and is rendered completely speechless. Never before in his life has he ever seen muscles this enormous on a woman. Never has he ever seen a woman who looks like this. He doubts he ever will again.

Dropping her arms, she turns to a side chest pose. Her barrel chest expands to superhuman proportions. Hardness forms in his pants. His breathing nearly stops for a second time.

“Do you like my body?”

Isn’t the answer to that obvious?

“Yes, ma’am. I love your body. Very much. It’s perfect.”

Every inch of her body is covered in huge, ripped muscles. Not a single centimeter of her body is flat, flabby or weak. Strength, supremacy and feminine grace exudes from her entire being. Power, control, authority, beauty, all of it. There has never been anyone like her on this planet before.

“Thank you. What part of my body do you like the most?”

I want to touch the shoulders of Arti Sharma Lopes!
I want to touch the shoulders of Arti Sharma Lopes!

His hands greedily rub her thick thighs. She wiggles her quad from left to right, confidently showing off her incredible muscle control. His attention moves to her hard calves, which particularly stand out when wearing these sparkly blue stiletto heels.

“Everything, ma’am. I love everything. But if I had to choose one part…” he begins, standing on his feet and facing her directly, “I’d have to choose your shoulders. Wow. So perfectly rounded.”

He caresses her shoulders with finesse. Not wanting to be treated like such a delicate flower, she grabs his hands and brings them close to her chest. Her eyes become serious. He has no idea how to react.

“Don’t touch me like I’m a special piece of art. I’m a woman. A strong, beautiful woman who’s very fucking proud of her body. I’ve made a lot of sacrifices to get this body. Lifting, hardcore dieting, drinking gallons of water every day, the soreness, the pain, the misery, the loneliness of cooking and working out and resting day after day after fucking day…so don’t treat me like I’m your girlfriend. I’m not your fucking girlfriend, am I?”

The only response he could give is to nod his head in agreement. Would that please her?

“Good. I’m glad we can agree on that. Remove my bikini top, please.”

Instantaneously, he follows orders and unties her bikini bra strap. It drifts to the floor and lands silently. He looks down and sees her pair of small, shrunken breasts with unbelievably stiff, one-inch long nipples. He pinches them lightly and hears a faint moan escape from her throat.

“Ooh, that’s more like it. I like it when you touch me like that. I punish my body every single day to get it to look this way. I want you to reward my hard work by giving me all the pleasure I deserve.”

The impeccably chiseled physique of Desiree Ellis.
The impeccably chiseled physique of Desiree Ellis.

“Yes, ma’am. Anything you say, ma’am,” he promises.

Her nipples grow harder and harder. Could they be an inch and a half long? He cups her breasts and squeezes them playfully. Then he moves on to her six-pack abs, trailing his fingers between the chiseled grooves of her abdomen. Another moan is heard from her.

“Let’s get on the bed, darling. Follow me,” she commands.

Kicking off her heels, he hears them plop on top of the hardwood floor. But that’s about furthest thing from his attention. His focus is completely on her. What does she plan to do next? He could only wait and see. She lies on the bed and spreads her legs wide. He sees a substantial bulge in her panties. What could that be? Is that what he thinks it is?

“Take off my bottom. Now!”

Quickly, he gets down on his knees and unties both sides of her bikini bottom. He listens to her heavy breathing as the last piece of clothing is removed from her divine body. She takes her panties and tosses them aside. His eyes fixate on her engorged clitoris protruding out between her legs.

Oh. My. Fucking. GOD!!!!!

At least three inches long, her massive phallic-like clitoris proudly stands at attention right in front of his face. She notices his shock and laughs out loud. Her deep rumbling laugh reverberates throughout the room. His jaw drops. His heartbeat skyrockets. There is no other reaction he can give other than remaining frozen in sheer astonishment.

“Is that what I think it is?” he meekly asks.

“Find out for yourself, honey. Go ahead. Explore what I have down there.”

Taking this as his cue to proceed, he opens his mouth and lowers it onto her gorgeous clit. He begins to suck it as hard as he can. She groans in pleasurable response. He cannot believe the amount of flesh she has between her long strong legs. But he ceases to think and continues to suck on her, using his tongue to lap her sensitive tip. Her senses go into overdrive. She’s wanted a man to do this to her for a very long time. She’s glad it got to be him. She’s glad she could give him this opportunity.

Meanwhile, he strokes her thighs and feels them twitch. He traces his thumb across a long vein going down her left hamstring. He knows he will never be able to be with a woman like her ever again, so he’s doing all he can to soak up the experience.

She feels her climax building. She knows she’s close. Does he also know? He’ll soon find out…

Finally, she comes. Her breathing intensifies. He sticks his finger inside her vagina and feels her walls contracting around him. Very wet down there, he observes. His erection is going to burst out of his underwear at any moment. When her orgasm subsides, she closes her legs and rolls onto her side. She is out of breath. She is pleased. She is happy. But she is far from satisfied.

Far, far from it!

Moments pass before she sits up on the bed. With fire in her eyes, she leaps up and tackles him to the ground. He helplessly falls backward. Impulsively, she rips off his clothes until he too is completely naked. His arousal multiplies. He loves that she’s taking control. He does nothing to resist.

Melissa Dettwiller in a cute yellow bikini.
Melissa Dettwiller in a cute yellow bikini.

Now that both of them are naked, they take some time to observe each other. Clearly, she is physically superior to him in every conceivable way. He is no match for her. Her huge, muscular body is a sight he will never forget. Her arms, shoulders, chest, back, legs, butt and abdomen are carved to perfection. An ancient Greek sculptor could not have created a more physically beautiful and dominant female form. She is the culmination of generations and generations of human biological development. She is the epitome of Woman. The world will never be able to appreciate her like he can.

“Thank you for giving me pleasure, my dear.”

“You’re welcome. I loved sucking on your beautiful clit. It’s so big, ma’am.”

“Yes, it’s very big. Very fucking big. Have you ever seen a clit that big before?” she asks. He shakes his head “no.” She smiles.

“I didn’t think so. Now, I’d like to return the favor and give you pleasure in the same way you gave me pleasure. Would you like that?” she inquires. He nods his head “yes.” Her gaze deepens. Is she looking into his soul?

“But before we do that,” she begins, walking toward the dresser drawer and opening it, “you have to do something for me first.”

He cranes his neck to see what she’s doing. She pulls a piece of cloth out of the drawer and closes it. She turns toward him and walks slowly, playing with the dark cloth in her hands.

“What is it?” he asks.

She comes to him and wraps the makeshift blindfold across his eyes. He gasps. She giggles. She tightens the black cloth around his head and kisses him passionately on the lips. The sudden kiss steals his breath. There is nothing he can do to stop whatever is about to happen next. She leans over and whispers this simple message into his ear:

“Worship me.”

The Erotic Dreams of Max Shimura: Episode Four – Double Dare (part two of two)

Can you imagine going to the beach and seeing Tonia Moore stretching out?
Can you imagine going to the beach and seeing Tonia Moore stretching out?

Later that afternoon, Max and Marie leave the beach and decide to explore the town a little more. Perusing through shops, street vendors and other obvious tourist traps; people still could not help but stop and stare at this very unorthodox couple.

“Holy shit! She’s huge! I mean, look at her muscles!” one passerby whispers to his friend.

“Lucky guy to be with a buff beauty like her!” another pedestrian remarks to no one in particular.

“Mommy! Is that a boy or a girl?” an innocent little girl asks her mother. The mother had no response other than dropping her jaw at the sight of Marie’s bulging biceps.

Wearing a tight fitting pink sundress and sandals, Marie shows no shame or hesitation in displaying her large muscles for everyone to see. In fact, she wants the whole world to see her hard work in plain view. She gets a tingling sensation deep within her soul every time complete strangers do nothing but stare at her in awe.

It is this sensation that Max cleverly knew to exploit.

“I’m thirsty. Shall we get something to drink?” Max suggests. Strolling through an art pawn shop, Max was quickly losing interest in walking around town doing nothing. He wanted a change of pace. Marie senses Max’s insistence to do something different.

“Are you about to give me my dare?” she casually asks.

“Maybe…” he begins, “maybe not. We’ll see. Follow me, my love.” Max and Marie link arms and leave the art shop. The shop owner’s eyes were as big as dinner plates as he watches Marie’s sexy muscular body walk out of his establishment.

“Let’s get some shaved ice. Over there!” Max says.

Minutes later, Max and Marie were heading back to their hotel (they coincidentally booked the same hotel) enjoying a cup of fruity shaved ice. Max is almost done as they approach the front steps of the hotel. Marie is only halfway finished because she could not stop talking about the deliciousness of this exquisite dessert.

“God, this is amazing! I almost never eat any sweets. The bodybuilding lifestyle doesn’t allow for too much sugars or candies. This is heavenly, Max. Great suggestion!” By now Marie has completely finished her shaved ice. She tosses the paper cup into a nearby trash bin. Max follows suit and does the same.

Cabo looks like such a great vacation spot.
Cabo looks like such a great vacation spot.

“Alright. Now what?” Marie enthusiastically asks. She grabs Max by the waist and brings him closer to her body. Her musky smell turns on Max. As if their previous coupling on the beach wasn’t enough to satiate him, he still desired her unlike any man has ever desired any woman. He knew what happens next will test the limits of his uncontrollable craving for her.

“You want to know what’s next? I have my dare for you. Are you ready to hear this?”

Marie excitedly perks up when she hears this. She takes Max’s hands into hers and kisses him softly on the lips. The sweet aftertaste of the shaved ice sends shivers down his spine. He feels his manhood awaken. She notices the beginnings of dampness forming between her long, thick legs.

“Yes. I’m ready. Tell me what to do.” She kisses him again, this time playfully biting his upper lip.

“I dare you to walk from here to the end of the street and back,” Max begins, pointing toward the busy boulevard full of pedestrians and bicyclists, “…completely naked.”

He smiles. She blinks.

“Are you serious? You want me to walk a good seven or eight blocks…totally in the nude?”

“Yes. I am being one hundred percent serious. You dared me to fuck you in public, right? Well, now I dare you to stroll down this busy street wearing nothing but your birthday suit.” Max notices Marie is wearing nothing but her dress, panties and sandals. Getting her completely nude would not be a problem. It’s convincing her to go through with it that will.

“I, uh…well, I don’t know about this…er…” Marie stumbles through her words. She cannot think of a reason to refuse.

“What are you unsure about? We’re on vacation. Nobody knows who we are. Even if they did, think about all the free publicity this little stunt would generate. Besides, you even told me yourself. You’re proud of your body. You want everyone to look at your body. Now this is your chance.” He returns the favor and kisses her. Max also nibbles on her upper lip. She blinks once more.

Marie stops to think. She’s seriously contemplating Max’s dare. He’s right. She’s very damn proud of her body. What does she have to hide? Is she ashamed of herself? Of course not! She’s very fucking proud of who she is and all the strenuous hard work she’s done to get her body to look this way. Forget decency! This isn’t the time or the place for that!

“Alright. Agreed. I’ll do it. Will you join me?”

“That’s not part of the deal!”

“I know. I’m just asking,” Marie says. Max considers.

“We’ll see.”

She laughs. He laughs too. But before he knew it, Marie impulsively pulls off her dress, drops her panties to the ground and kicks off her sandals. She picks everything up and hands them to Max. He quickly finds a nearby bush and hides her clothing behind it. He turns around and looks at this gorgeous muscular wearing absolutely nothing. Her stunning figure steals his breath. Already a few hotel employees stop dead in their tracks and stare at her. What is this beautiful female bodybuilder doing standing around completely nude in broad daylight? Is she out of her mind? What the hell is going on here?!

Before the hotel employees could process what they were staring at, Marie begins her triumphant promenade down the busy street. Passerby cars stop to look at her. A bicyclist nearly runs into a utility pole. A dozen or so pedestrians freeze at the mere sight of her. Marie’s immense sexual power emanates from her entire being. Max is enjoying every minute of it.

The gorgeous Dr. Dena Westerfield.
The gorgeous Dr. Dena Westerfield.

“Take a look at me, Cabo!” Marie screams from the top of her lungs. Max giggles uncontrollably. More cars stop in the middle of a green light as Marie crosses the intersection. Motorists start to honk their horns until they discover what all the fuss is about. People speaking Spanish yell at her thing she couldn’t understand. A few whistles and hoots are heard from all directions. More pedestrians stop cold and are powerless to resist looking at her.

Voices everywhere seemingly scream all at once:

“What the fuck is going on here?”

“Is that a man? No, it’s a fucking chick! And she’s naked, bro! Look!”

“Holy shit! There’s a buff chick walking down the street! What the fuck?”

“Look, look, look at that! Check out that muscular girl! Holy fuck, she’s naked! And really buff!”

“Wow! Holy hell, that’s one gorgeous woman. Wow!!!”

“Dude, dude! Check it out! Seriously, over there! Who is that?”

“WHAT THE FUUUUUUUUUCK????????????!!!!!!!!!!”

Marie has reached past the first intersection and is now walking down the next block. Max follows closely behind so to not attract too much attention. He smiles at the sense of joyful rebellion Marie is demonstrating at the moment: Uncaring about what people think about her, proud of her body and not afraid to show it off in all its primal glory for all to see (whether they like it or not). Nothing turns on Max more than witnessing this majestic display of open defiance.

Moments later, Marie stops at a busy cross street and poses for camera phone pictures. A few tourists with professional-quality cameras get down on one knee and take more “artistic” photographs. There may have been a camera crew shooting a low-grade beer commercial that stopped what they were doing and pointed their cameras at her instead. A large group has developed around her. It seems like everyone in Cabo at the moment is crowding around this street to take a peek at Marie’s divine nude muscular body.

Her delts, biceps, triceps, pecs, quads, hamstrings, glutes, calves, abdomen, forearms and sharply defined muscle striations were the talk of the town. No one could keep their eyes off of her.

A busy street in Mexico City.
A busy street in Mexico City.

“Come on, Max! Join in on the fun!” Marie yells. Everyone turns toward Max and stares at him. They now realize he is with her. Is he her husband? Boyfriend? Or just a casual friend? The masses had to know!

“I don’t know…I mean…” Max stutters. He tries to resist joining her in this very public display of nudity, but a voice inside his head is telling him to unrepentantly give in.

“Max, Max, Max, Max!” Marie chants.

“Max! Max! Max! Max!” the crowd chants along.

Screw decency! Max decides to bite the bullet and do what the lady says.

As he strips off his shorts and t-shirt, the crowd goes wild with cheering and hollering. Down to his boxers, the chants of Max’s name grows louder and louder. The raucous noise is almost too much to bear. The deafening racket is almost painful to his ears. Finally, Max rips off his underwear and is completely nude. The crowd screams loudly as if Max had just hit the game winning home run in the World Series.

Marie holds out her hand. Max takes it unabashedly. Holding hands like old lovers, this unlikely couple poses for more impromptu photos and video. God, will his friends and family find out about this back home? Probably! But at this moment, he couldn’t care less about any of that. For now, all he could think about what himself and his Muscle Goddess friend.

The unconventional sight of a beautiful 47-year-old female bodybuilder holding hands with a 23-year-old scrawny Asian guy must be jarring to anyone not caught up in the heat of the moment. But for the time being, all anyone could care about was becoming part of this improvised street parade.

Max and Marie continue their walk down the street to complete his dare to her. Neither one of them knows what’s going to happen with his clothes. They’ll worry about that at a later time.

About ten to fifteen other people have joined the fun and stripped down naked as well. When in Rome, right?

“Why is she with this Asian guy? He has a small dick!” one drunk and obnoxious observer screamed at the top of his lungs.

Marie hears this and looks at Max. Max blushes, embarrassed at his penis’s shriveled appearance. The cool breeze sweeping over them isn’t making his manhood look too flattering! Immediately sensing his insecurity, Marie holds onto Max’s hand tighter and kisses him on the neck. Max’s heart warms like never before.

If I saw Nikki Fuller and Amber DeLuca engage in this type of activity in public, I'd definitely stop and stare. Wouldn't you?
If I saw Nikki Fuller and Amber DeLuca engage in this type of activity in public, I’d definitely stop and stare. Wouldn’t you?

At last, the parade reaches the end as Marie and Max can finally see the edge of the beach. The street ends and splits off into opposite directions parallel to the water. Their large crowd is still enthusiastically following them from behind. Some of the other naked followers have begun posing for pictures themselves. Others are making out and engaging in other not-so-subtle sexual activity.

“Well, this is the end. Shall we walk back?” Marie whispers into his ear.

“Nah. I like it out here. There’s a cool breeze. The sun is starting to set. Let’s stay out here for a few moments. Let’s enjoy what we have right now,” Max says.

After a few moments pass, Marie has an idea.

“Let’s show these people that I love being with you. Let’s show them what that small dick of yours can do!” she says.

This grabs Max’s attention. Is she being serious right now? Is she saying they should–

But before he could think another thought, Marie squats down and puts her mouth over Max’s penis and begins sucking on it. The crowd erupts in a round of applause. Stroking her tongue around the sensitive tip, Max’s manhood is now fully engorged and ready for anything.

Marie lies down on a grassy area and spreads her legs wide. The crowd circles around them. As if on an entirely different planet, Max ignores his surroundings and plunges his “small dick” inside her. She moans loudly, perhaps a little too loudly, just to prove a point. She wants everyone to know that Max is a man, perhaps more of a man than anybody watching them!

As Max passionately makes love to Marie, several other couples follow suit, just like back at the beach earlier in the day. Good Lord, is everyone down here in Cabo San Lucas this horny and unhinged?

They kiss. They fondle each other’s bodies. Max cups her breasts and rubs her six-pack abs. He greedily explores every muscular inch of her perfectly sculpted body. Marie’s cartoonish moans turn to real moans of pleasure as she tightens her vagina around him. She wants them to come at the same time right in front of all these watching people. She doesn’t care if the entire world sees these videos go viral. She wants the whole universe to know that she’s not ashamed to make love to this scrawny, small-dicked Asian guy!

The moans continue. Max feels he’s close. Marie knows she’s even closer. One final thrust later…and they both come together. He feels her strong vaginal walls contract around him as he recklessly spills his seed into her for a second time. Her hot heavy breath raises goosebumps all over his skin. A drop of sweat drips off him and falls on her neck.

Other couples have started to make love too, but Max and Marie are too busy staring into each other’s eyes. Max brushes a lock of hair away from her cheek. He kisses her deeply. Marie carefully pulls his penis out of her vagina and teases it with her fingers. He gasps uncontrollably. Max counters by stroking her massively swollen clitoris with his thumb and index finger, which eventually brings her to another orgasm. She wrestles with him in the grass as they laugh to their heart’s delight.

Eventually, they hear police sirens screeching in the distance. Someone has obviously told the cops that there is a rebellious couple walking around town as naked as the day they were born. Max and Marie snap out of their spell and run back to the hotel as fast as they can.

They laugh. They scream. They giggle. They find moments to kiss between dodging through cars and bicyclists.

Even when they arrive at the hotel, they still continue to sprint at full speed. The police are far from them, but this is a couple that doesn’t have a care in the world. They’ll keep running, and running, and running.

To where, exactly? That doesn’t matter.

All that matters is that they’re daring enough to do it.

Educating Jonathan – Part One

This is the figure I imagined Dr. Samantha would possess.
This is the figure I imagined Dr. Samantha would possess.

“Is it true Asian men have small penises?” she asks.

Jonathan stops his slow, languorous kisses across her neck as he freezes, utterly shocked to hear such a question.

“Um, I have no idea if we do or not. I don’t think any scientific studies have been done on the matter.” He continues to kiss her, moving up to her jawline, tasting her sweet skin. Samantha softly moans as his tongue explores her slender cheek bones.

“I lost my virginity to an Asian boy. He was Vietnamese. We were both fifteen. I haven’t spoken to him in almost twenty years,” she says, cupping his bottom with her hands. Jonathan and Samantha were now down to their underwear, dainty pieces of fabric separating them from total nakedness.

“How was he? In bed, that is…” he asks. He isn’t just asking to make casual conversation. Jonathan sincerely wants to know. How would he compare to a pubescent Vietnamese boy?

Samantha takes a deep breath and wraps her arms around Jonathan’s waist. She ponders this question for a moment, her right eyebrow raised slightly. Deep in thought.

“I don’t remember. We were both very young. I didn’t come, but that wasn’t because of him. The whole time I was scared we’d be caught by my parents. We did it on their bed. They could have come home at any moment. We were both drunk.” Samantha felt a chill roll down her back as she reflects upon that particular night. They were so close to being caught. But alas, they had plenty of time to finish the deed before Mom and Dad came home from the movie theater.

Jonathan wonders where this conversation is going. Are they going to make love or not? He isn’t the impatient type of guy, but after hours of foreplay (starting with him buying her dinner at an overpriced seafood restaurant) he was more than ready to ravish her on his bed. Mostly naked and furiously aroused, he was as good as ready. He was pretty sure she was too.

The rain fell peacefully on the bedroom’s sky window. Jonathan’s top floor apartment unit stood seventeen floors high, overlooking the entire metropolitan skyline. It was approaching midnight, but neither of them felt sleepy. He wants to make love to her right now. She, on the other hand, is preoccupied with discussing the size of Asian men’s penises.

This is how things are going so far.

“Overall, was it a positive experience for the both of you?” he asks. Maybe if he kept the discussion going this would lead to better sex than if he just remained silent. Women love men who can communicate, right?

There's something peacefully calming about the rain.
There’s something peacefully calming about the rain.

“Yes, it was. I didn’t feel any pain. He came inside me. I didn’t come, but I was at an age when I hadn’t ever come before. I learned how to shortly after.” Her soft skin felt divine against his body. She smelled like a fresh spring morning, full of hope and renewal. Jonathan desperately wants to taste her femininity, to take in every inch of her magnificent body and destroy any notion that Asian men can’t be good lovers. He wants to bring her to as many earth-shattering climaxes as possible and leave her begging for more until the sun rose the next morning.

“How…big was he?” Jonathan courageously asks.

“I was young, so I didn’t think about that. We did it in the dark, so I couldn’t get a good look at him. He felt fine inside me, I think. But no one can fill me the way my husband can.” Jonathan almost cringes at the thought of Samantha being a married woman. He hates being the “other man,” but his uncontrollable lust for her has clouded his judgment and rendered any sense of moral decency useless.

“What would your husband think if he knew what we were doing?” he quietly whispers in her ear.

“He’d be very angry. He wouldn’t resort to violence, but he’d be very angry.” Samantha doesn’t have a single shred of guilt inside her. The moment she peeked into their bedroom one early afternoon and saw her husband in bed with a female coworker, she knew she had to exact revenge on him without his knowledge. He never found out that she found out…and that’s the way Samantha wants it to be.

Jonathan and Samantha met under very unlikely circumstances. He’s a grad student at the University working on his Masters in physics. She’s a college professor at the same University and earned her doctorate in Gender, Race and Class Studies. He’s never taken a course from her, but her reputation as an accomplished and intelligent woman with gorgeous good looks made her a legend on campus. She’s never slept with any of her students, as she’s remained faithful to her husband (a neurosurgeon and widely respected man in his community) throughout their entire marriage until this fateful night.

He’s Asian, 25-years-old and unmarried. She’s a natural blonde, white, 52-years-old and has been married for 27 years. She’s been with her husband longer than Jonathan’s been alive. This fact does not escape either of them.

Jonathan reaches down and feels between her legs. Her panties are soaking wet, moisture seeping through the bright red fabric. She lets out another moan as his fingers explore her swollen womanhood.

Olympic track athlete Funmi Jimoh, born in Seattle, WA! She's the inspiration for "Kristina," the girl Jonathan lost his virginity to years ago.
Olympic track athlete Funmi Jimoh, born in Seattle, WA! She’s the inspiration for “Kristina,” the girl Jonathan lost his virginity to years ago.

“I want to make love to you. Badly, Samantha,” Jonathan pleads with her. His erection is straining against his underwear, equally anticipating release and satisfaction. She reaches down and pinches the sides of his underwear, slowly dragging it down his legs.

“Please. Call me Sammy. That’s what my students call me,” Samantha quips, mesmerized by the unveiling of Jonathan’s manhood.

“Dr. Sammy” is what she’s specifically known by around campus. The moment Jonathan first saw her he instantly fell in love. Her beauty, intelligence, passion and dedication to her craft of teaching struck him immediately – like a thousand bolts of lightning hitting him all at once.

When she pulled off his underwear, Jonathan was completely naked. His erected manhood stood between him and her. A sudden wave of insecurity rushed over him. She says her husband can fill her like no one else can. How would he compare? What is she thinking right now?

Samantha looks down at his penis and stares at it, studying its shape and size. Before marrying her husband, Samantha had a very active sex life and has seen her share of male anatomy through the years. She didn’t quite know what to think about his endowment yet. It wasn’t particularly small, but it wasn’t big either. It was light brown, curved slightly and circumcised. His black pubic hair was short and lightly trimmed, dancing around his manhood without being distracting.

“How big is it?” she asks, almost in a trance-like state. Jonathan has no idea how to respond.

“Uh, I don’t know. What do you mean by that?”

“How long is it? Have you ever measured it before?”

“No, I have not. Do you want to?”

Her eyes light up. Of course she wants to! Samantha doesn’t know where her obsession with penis size came from, but throughout her adult life (starting in high school) she’s been mesmerized by men’s penises – their function, their size, their appearance, their unique smell and their role in social relationships. She once wrote an entire book dedicated to studying penises. Every possible angle was explored in this groundbreaking text. She even won an award for it.

“Yes, I want to. Do you have a ruler or measuring tape?” Her eyes still have not left his manhood. Jonathan has never taken much thought about the size of his penis. He’s always assumed he was average. None of the women he’s ever been with (both Asian and non-Asian) have ever complained. But then again, not complaining isn’t the same as being satisfied. He lost his virginity to a black girl during his freshman year in college. Her name was Kristina. She lived in the same dormitory building and was a member of the track team. She had an incredibly muscular body that was as fit and athletic as he’d ever witnessed in his life. He’ll never forget that experience.

“I have a roll of measuring tape in my desk drawer.” Jonathan gets up off the bed and almost trips on the pile of clothes recklessly sprawled out across the floor. His erection sways from side to side as he walks across the room. Samantha notices this and begins to touch herself in response. She slides her right hand beneath her panties and places two fingers across her swollen clitoris, stroking herself as she closes her eyes and imagines Jonathan’s Asian penis filling every inch of her. She unclasps her bra and drops it on the floor.

Have you ever measured the length of your manhood?
Have you ever measured the length of your manhood?

Meanwhile, Jonathan opens his desk drawer and takes out a small roll of measuring tape. He can’t remember the last time he used this. High school shop class, perhaps? That must be it.

He turns around and sees Samantha pleasuring herself. Her right hand caresses the sensitive nub between her legs while her left hand explores her stomach, breasts and neck. Jonathan watches, captivated by this little “show.” Jonathan has seen lots of videos of women masturbating in front of a camera, but nothing compares to watching the real thing unfold right before his very eyes.

She has no idea what’s come over her. She’s not the type of woman who impulsively touches herself when a sudden rush of arousal hits her. But here she is, rubbing herself like a sex-starved housewife in front of a total stranger she’s only met hours ago. Samantha feels a hot rush of heat pulsate from between her legs as her fingers relentlessly caress her most sensitive area. She knows she’s close. And she’s further turned on knowing he’s watching her.

Jonathan can’t breathe. Samantha loses her breath – caught up in the moment, reveling in the sensations rising up from her depraved body.

Samantha looks up to the Heavens as she approaches her climax. Her fingers continue to rub her clit as her breathing increases with forceful panic. Seeing Jonathan’s hard manhood sway back and forth reminded her of her husband twenty years ago, when they were both young and full of uninhibited sexual ambitions.

Finally, Samantha’s orgasm reaches its peak and she climaxes. A controlled scream fills the air as her orgasm engulfs her entire body from head to toe. The rhythmic contractions of her vaginal muscles steal her breath, making her fall backwards on the bed. Her fingers linger on her clit until her spasms subside. Eventually her breathing returns to normal and she opens her eyes, thanking every deity in existence for this amazing experience. She brings her fingers to her mouth and tastes her feminine juices, enjoying the way her taste buds respond to her own essence.

Silence. Neither of them move for what seems like an eternity. Jonathan decides to break the deafening stillness.

“That was amazing. It looks like you don’t even need me.” Jonathan winks at her, a wicked smile streaking across his face.

Samantha laughs heartily. She never expected this impromptu masturbation session. But there was something in the way that Jonathan’s penis moved as he walked that erupted a sudden burst of lust inside her. She needed release at that moment. And the only one who could give her that immediate release was herself.

More erotic photography. A woman pleasuring herself. Who can better please a woman than herself?
More erotic photography. A woman pleasuring herself. Who can better please a woman than herself?

“Come here. I want to do something with you.” Samantha pats the bed next to her as she sits back up. By now Jonathan can clearly see her panties are soaking wet, a sign of her arousal that sparks a similar eruption of lust inside him. He hands her the measuring tape and sits down next to her.

“Let’s see how big you are. If you don’t mind.” She stretches the tape out. It’s 72 inches long, plenty of length for whatever scientific experiment she wants to conduct.

“No, I don’t mind. I’m never one to get in the way of scientific research.” Jonathan inhales a deep breath as Samantha grabs the base of his penis and lightly strokes up and down. He feels sudden waves of pleasure cascading through his body. If she wasn’t careful, he might come right there.

“Good. Let’s see where you are…” she trails off, pushing her thumb against the tip of his penis to make sure it stands straight. She then places the end of the measuring tape at the base of his pubic hair and rolls the tape up to the top. He looks down to see how he stacks up.

“About five and a half inches long,” Samantha says unemotionally, as if she were relaying astronomy coordinates to a bored lab assistant.

“Whew,” Jonathan says, breathing a sigh of relief. Is that standard? All the unscientific research he’s ever read says the average penis size, when fully engorged, is between five and six inches. At five and a half, he’s right in the middle. Good! He’s not small. But he’s also not large. He’s…average.

He can live with “average.”

Samantha then wraps the measuring tape around the base of his penis to calculate the circumference. She brushes some of his pubic hair aside to get a more accurate reading.

“Just shy of four and three-quarters inches,” she says, equally without emotion or judgment.

“Dr. Sammy” winds the measuring tape and places it on top of the bedside table. She turns to face Jonathan and plants a light kiss on his right cheek. Electricity runs down his spine as her soft, luscious lips linger on the side of his face.

“Let’s make love,” he suggests, caressing her cheek and lightly pinching her pink nipple with his fingertips.

She takes the hint and slips off her soaked panties down her beautiful legs. Samantha kicks them away to the side, uncaring where they land. She is now completely nude.

“Yes.” She kisses him deeply, refusing to let this prefect moment go to waste.

The Erotic Dreams of Max Shimura: Episode Two – Black Beauty

When you think of Black Beauty, think about Desiree Ellis.
When you think of Black Beauty, think about Desiree Ellis.

Max’s next dream took him to a familiar place: his own life.

Rainfall. Dusk. The time is 5:37 p.m. It is Friday, a day Max always cherishes.

After a rough week at work, Max knew he had to blow off some steam at the gym. TGIF, right? Max frequently worked out at the gym 3 to 4 days per week, doing a variety of exercises ranging from weight lifting to yoga to Pilates to swimming. Today he just needed to lift till his muscles gave out. It was one of those days.

6:40 p.m.

Max just completes nearly an hour and a half of blasting his chest and back muscles. Drenched in sweat, breathing hard as if he’d just run a marathon; he decides it’s time to stretch and end his workout with light cardio. As he was heading to the treadmill area, a heart-stopping sight caught him dead in his tracks.

Walking out of a now completed Zumba class was a striking black woman. Tall (perhaps 6’1”, maybe taller), muscular, athletic and as gorgeous as a supermodel, this woman exudes sexual power out of every pore of her impeccable body. Max is certain he’d never seen her here before, but at this moment, encountering this Beautiful Goddess destroyed any certainty he had of anything.

Imagine seeing a lady like Tatianna Butler in your gym. Talk about distracting.
Imagine seeing a lady like Tatianna Butler in your gym. Talk about distracting.

Wearing tight pink workout shorts and a revealing pink sports bra to match, this fetching woman is a perfect specimen of female beauty. She is the quintessential Black Beauty, the Immortal African Queen. Her dark black skin looks silky smooth and as soft as a blanket. Her hard muscles are sharp and well-defined. She is as strong as an ox. Every inch of her is perfect.

And Max was determined to find out more about her.

Black Beauty proceeds to walk toward the weight room. Wait, really? She’s not going back to the locker room? She actually plans to lift with the rest of the guys?

Hell yes, she is!

Black Beauty demonstrates that she isn’t just strong “for a woman;” she shows everyone she’s STRONG, plain and simple. Deadlifts. Squats. Lunges. Leg presses. Massive weight. Heavy reps. Sweat dripping off her delectable body. Today is definitely her leg day.

All the guys stop and stare at her. But does she get offended with this new-found attention? Nope. She loves the attention. She adores being looked at. She treasures every guy who can’t help but stare at her glorious figure. She wants this. She desires this.

She deserves this.

Every guy wants her. But Max knows he would be the one who would end up with her before the night is out. He doesn’t know how. He just knows this is how things will happen.

So…time to make a move!

It started with casual flirting. Max passes by Black Beauty and lets out a hushed wolf whistle. Black Beauty smiles back and returns the whistle as Max pumps out ten reps of heavy military shoulder press. Today isn’t a shoulders day, but any excuse to get close to her makes that fact irrelevant.

Then he strikes up a casual conversation with her. He asks her why he’s never seen her here before. She answers that she just moved into town. Their conversation goes deeper. They learn things about each other; where they grew up, what schools they attended, where they live, what they do for a living (as it turns out, she’s an amateur bodybuilder and a professional erotic model) and what hobbies they share. They learn a lot in a brief amount of time.

Her name is Afrika. See her power. See her strength. Admire her.
Her name is Afrika. See her power. See her strength. Admire her.

Minutes pass. Then an hour. Then an hour and a half. Forget working out. Max and Black Beauty aren’t just flirting – they’re connecting at a deep level. All the men in the weight room are jealous of Max. Many leave after conceding that Black Beauty is Max’s for the taking. They know what will happen between these two. So why bother sticking around and hoping they’ll get their shot?

For Max and Black Beauty, this is no longer casual flirting. This is foreplay. This is a mating dance; albeit one that involves dumbbells, barbells and lots of 45-pound plates of weight. Consummating this dance isn’t a possibility; it’s a guarantee.

Eventually Max and Black Beauty ease off their conversation and resume their workouts. Having already completed his initial workout, Max is now doing overtime. His muscles may collapse on him. But he doesn’t care one bit. This opportunity to get to know Black Beauty is one that he cannot pass up.

Max says he’s leaving and is heading home. Black Beauty, clearly enamored by him, offers to exchange phone numbers. They do. Max texts to Black Beauty his name and phone number. She smiles and resumes her grueling workout. Max leaves the weight room as if he’d just conquered the world.

After taking a quick shower and brushing his teeth, Max buys a protein shake at the juice bar. He looks around for Black Beauty. She’s still at the weight room, squatting what looks to be 315 pounds. Holy smokes. Look at that power. Look at her impeccable form. Look at her massive thighs, growing stronger and stronger with every punishing repetition. The way she strenuously pushes her leg muscles beyond what they can handle turns Max on in ways he’s never been turned on before.

Max senses his manhood waking up. Who cares if anyone notices?

An hour later, Max is at home watching a rerun of some football game he couldn’t care less about. Out of the blue, his phone buzzes. He checks it out and sees this simple message:

I wanna fuck you. So fucking bad. My place or yours?

Do you really have to guess who this is? Didn’t think so.

Ultimately, Max decides to come over to her house. Black Beauty texts him her address and fifteen minutes later he’s pulling up his car onto her driveway. He kills the engine. She lives in a quaint stone house in a quiet residential neighborhood a few miles away from his apartment. Though he wouldn’t consider her a next-door-neighbor, he’d drive any distance to be with this Black Muscle Goddess.

Zoe Saldana's beauty is enough to make my heart stop.
Zoe Saldana’s beauty is enough to make my heart stop.

He rings her doorbell. He waits. Seconds pass which seem like days. Eventually, the door opens. Black Beauty is standing before him.

Holy shit.

Dressed in nothing but a lily white negligee, silky purple lingerie and bright red stiletto heels, Black Beauty was a divine object of flawless beauty. Her revealing outfit shows off every bulging muscle on her unbelievable body. Her pumped legs, which Max was surprised was still able to stand considering the intensity of her earlier workout, nearly gave him a heart attack. Her wide, massive thighs squeeze together, unable to separate apart on their own. This thickness sends a chill down Max’s spine.

She invites him in. He enters her home. It is artistically decorated – littered with Greek nude statues, post-modern erotic paintings, photographs of muscular men and women in a variety of sensual poses and bookshelves full of academic textbooks.

She explains that she’s a student of art history, erotic art and human sexuality. Max isn’t surprised one bit. Their conversation at the gym was much deeper than any normal weight room banter. Black Beauty isn’t just a strong, beautiful woman. She’s also deeply passionate, intelligent and artistically-minded.

Not a bad combination.

Black Beauty offers him something to drink. Max takes the offer. They enter her dining room and sip fine wine by romantic candlelight for the next two hours. Their topics of conversation run the gamut; politics, art, sex, race, society, bodybuilding, culture, sports, history, family and culinary experiences. Their mutual fondness grows exponentially with each passing moment. Both Max and Black Beauty sense this isn’t going to be just a quick affair. Both know this has potential to be something more…profound.

It is nearing midnight. One empty bottle of wine later, Max and Black Beauty are both fairly loosened up. Not drunk. No, both are very clear-minded. Probably because they only have one thing on their mind:

Making love.

Yes, not fucking. Not screwing. Not banging one another. No…making love. Max and Black Beauty are about to make love as if they’d known each other for decades. This isn’t purely physical. This is something else entirely. This is real. Very real. Very tangible.

All hail Iris Kyle, a legend in her own right.
All hail Iris Kyle, a legend in her own right.

Finally, after hours of keeping a respectable physical distance, Black Beauty leans in and kisses Max passionately. She tastes him, possessing him with her mouth. Her tongue explores him, marking its territory. Max couldn’t breathe. But he didn’t mind. He’s been waiting for this moment a long time.

Max and Black Beauty finish their kiss and lock eyes. It’s time to start this dance. This erotic dance that will, inevitably, last all night and into the early morning. Hell, it’ll probably last into all day tomorrow as well. But tomorrow can wait. All that matters is the here and now.

Black Beauty stands up from the dining room table and walks over to him. Max loves the sight of her tight butt jiggling with every step. They share a second kiss, this time less fervent than the last, but nevertheless equally endearing. Max gets up and embraces her securely, feeling every mound of muscle on her taut back. She squeezes back and nearly knocks the wind out of him. Wow! She’s powerful! Her enormous arms wrap around his torso with a force that could sever him in half.

She releases. He struggles to catch his breath. Before he makes an attempt to, she grabs his hand and leads him into the living room.

All the lights are out. A fire is burning in the fireplace, giving off a dreamy glowing aura. A large fleece blanket and two pillows are neatly laid on the floor. She’s planned this out, meticulous detail by meticulous detail. God, what a woman!

Black Beauty stops, turns around and lifts Max’s shirt over his head. She kneels down and unbuckles his belt. Max reaches down and rubs her strong, broad shoulders. Black Beauty kisses his abdominal muscles, savoring every inch. Max plans to savor every inch of her, too.

Victoria Dominguez on a beach. Heaven on Earth, no?
Victoria Dominguez on a beach. Heaven on Earth, no?

She finally strips him and instructs him to sit down on the blanket. Max obliges. Black Beauty takes a few steps back and starts an erotic dance that captivates him. His manhood stands at attention. She removes her negligee and drops it to the floor. It pools around her ankles. She slowly removes her bra tosses it recklessly across the room. It disappears into the darkness.

Her large, plump breasts beckon him, but she pulls away to tease him. She kicks off her stilettos and places them behind her. All that’s left are her panties.

After another languorous erotic dance, inspired by ballet and rhythm stepping, Black Beauty at last removes the one last piece of clothing from her magnificent body. She steps back and poses, proudly demonstrating her muscularity. The light from the fire accentuates every fine curve, every muscle, every inch of her hard work at the gym.

Black Beauty bends over and kisses Max again. She lightly strokes his penis in an effort to arouse him. But the truth is he’s been aroused for hours now. But he appreciates the kind gesture.

She rolls on top of him and kisses his neck, chest and shoulders. Max returns the favor and strokes her long silky black hair. Black Beauty pulls him up and they share a long, wet kiss. Max reaches down and inserts a finger inside her vagina. She lets out a moan, expressing her approval. She’s completely wet, moist and ready for him. He knows what comes next.

Coming apart from their kiss, Black Beauty lies down on her back and spreads her thick legs in a spreadeagle formation. Max caresses her calves and takes his time to admire them. But she is impatient. She wants him to enter her. She wants him to please her.

Max, not wanting to disappoint, positions his penis at the entrance of her vagina and rubs the tip against her swollen clitoris. Black Beauty moans again loudly, not holding back. Now is not the time to hold back anything.

Halle Berry is one of my favorites from my youth. God, what a beauty!
Halle Berry is one of my favorites from my youth. God, what a beauty!

In one single movement, Max pushes himself into her until he can’t possibly get any deeper. Jolts of electricity scream through their bodies. Max bends over and kisses Black Beauty ardently, savoring her with an earnest that he’s never experienced before. She wraps her long strong legs around him and thrusts herself into him, forcing both lovers to moan out loud in unapologetic pleasure.

Max whispers something into Black Beauty’s ear. Only they know what is said, no one else. As he drives himself deeper and deeper into her, he forgets where he is for a moment. Her house? Paradise? It makes no difference.

Black Beauty clutches her lover’s body tightly against her ample chest, her bulky muscles temporarily knocking the wind out of him. They kiss with a force that neither could replicate with another person again. Wet, sloppy and untamed, these lovers are holding nothing back. They don’t have time to waste. It’s only this moment, this place and their animalistic lust for each other that matter. Why worry about tomorrow?

The lovers experience the initial sensations of orgasm. But this lovemaking session isn’t about the orgasm. No. It’s about one thing only: Love.

She rolls over and takes over on top. He enthusiastically indulges in her whim. Riding him like a cowgirl riding her prized stallion, she locks her fingers around his and playfully dances up and down his manhood. He whimpers, knowing this is a moment he will never forget. She falls on top of him, spreads her legs wide and prepares for one final thrust that will send both lovers over the edge.

She whispers something into his ear. Like before, no one in the world will ever know what she tells him.

Black Beauty lifts her perfectly rounded butt in the air, takes a deep breath, kisses Max one last time and gives him one last final thrust. Their lips never come apart.

Max and Black Beauty come at the same time. Their lips finally separate. They let out a wild scream which will surely shake the Earth’s foundation.

Her vaginal muscles contract uncontrollably. His penis pulses with authority, emptying himself into her. He wants to give her all he’s got. He wants this moment to be special.

She collapses on top of him. They breathe heavily. Sweat drips off their bodies. Their hearts pound together to the same beat. The shadows created by the fire’s light produce a picturesque image of erotic perfection. Two people. One body. Pure love.

They continue to whisper sweet words into each other’s ears. The poetry shared between them could fill a thousand volumes of classical literature.

Outside, the rain begins to fall. It gets louder and louder with each passing moment. There is now a peace between the two lovers. The gentle sounds of water cascading off the roof add to the sexual ambiance.

Finally, she lifts herself off of him. His penis has softened by now. She toys with it playfully, smiling down at him. He returns the favor and lightly strokes her beautiful labia. He sits up and kisses her breasts, lapping her tongue across her sensitive nipples. She closes her eyes, looks up to the Heavens and sighs with satisfaction. This moment cannot be any more perfect, she tells herself.

Romantic fireplace and wine.
Romantic fireplace and wine.

The night is still young. The fire’s celestial glow endures. The fire burning within them is far from being satiated. Their shared love will never die.

The two lovers cuddle underneath the blanket and share stories about their childhoods. There’s something poignant about the simplicity of life and the desire to share it that comes out after the act of lovemaking. They talk for what seems like an eternity. The rain continues to pour. Nurturing the earth, the light tapping of water against the windows makes both Black Beauty and Max a little nostalgic for the mutual pleasure they experienced moments before.

What should they do? How can they make this flawless night last forever?

Max has an idea.

He pulls back the blanket, kisses her again, hugs her firmly and tells her what’s on his mind. She nods.

She embraces him back, and they make love again.

And again…and again…and again…and into eternity.